THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS 


BY 


JAMES  B.  KENYON 


NEW  YORK 
EATON  &  MAINS 


COPYRIGHT,  EATON  &  MAINS,  igaa 


Cover  design  by  Mae  Wallace  McCastline 


THE  SINGING  PILGRIM 

Content,  with  meager  scrip  and  pilgrim  staff, 
Singing  he  journeys  through  the  changejul  years; 

At  whiles,  he  stays  to  laugh  with  those  who  laugh  ; 
Anon,  his  way  lies  through  the  Vale  of  Tears. 


904167 


CONTENTS 

« 

TWILIGHT  AND  MUSIC 
REJUVENESCENCE 
THE  NEW  POET 
EVOLUTION 

THE  THRALL  OF  SLEEP 
THE  REFLUENT  WAVE 
FORGOTTEN 

THE  PLAY 

IA1OGEN  IN  THE   CAVE   OF  BELARIUS 

A  MEMORY 

A  RUINED  ROSEBUD 

A  BROKEN   DREAM 

A  WIFE 

WITHDRAWN 

BECALMED 

A  WOMAN 

FROM  AN  ANCIENT  URN 

LOVE  IS   DEAD 

THE   HARLEQUIN 

ATAVISM 

NOW  SLEEPS  THE   BREATHING  EARTH 

VAE  V1CTIS 

A  FOOL  TODAY,  A  SAINT  TOMORROW 

ET  EGO  IN  ARCADIA 

APRIL 

A  GREAT  MAN 

THE  CRISIS 

CHARACTER 


MAIDEN   AND  BRIDE  31 

THE  SHELL  3» 

DEFEATED  33 

THE  JESTER  34 

THE  POTTER'S  CLAY  35 

A   HAUNTED    HEART  3$ 

THE  PRISONER  AND  THE   LARK  37 

OPPORTUNITY  40 

THE  ENDLESS  RENEWING  41 

ROBERT  BROWNING  42 

AD  VESPERAM  44 

THE  LAST  SHELTER  46 

THE   FIRST  SNOWFALL  46 

A  PAVEMENT    FOSSIL  47 

THE   PURSUIT  OF   FAME  49 

THE   UPPER  REALMS  SO 

RECOMPENSE  5° 

THE   PARTING  51 

TO   52 

THE   FRUITFUL  YEAR  53 

THE    NEW-COMER  53 

THE  BLIND  ARCHER  54 

AT  SUNSET  55 

THE  VEILED   DESTINY  5& 

AFTER  THE  BRIDAL  57 

IN  THE   MARKET-PLACE  & 

MILTON  59 

ANTICIPATION  fe 

A  VOICE  FROM  RAMA  63 

AT  THE  WINDOW  ^5 


LITTLE  FOOTFALLS  66 

R.  L.  S.  67 

*A  SONG  OF  THE   HILLTOP  68 

THE   HEART  OF  A  BOY  69 

SING  A  SONG  OF  SIXPENCE  fl 

CRADLE  SONGS  » 

SHADOWS  OF  THE  SANCTUARY 

HOMEWARD  82 

"HE  BRINGETH  THE  WIND"  82 

"LIKE  AS  WE  ARE"  84 

CONSIDER  THE   LILIES  85 

THE  QUEST  87 

THE   GOLDEN  AGB  88 

WEARY  9° 

PAIN  QO 

SURRENDER  93 

DOUBT  AND  FAITH  9* 

MYSTERY                                                                                               f  95 

"THE  CLOUDS  ARE  THE   DUST  OF   HIS   FEET"  96 

WASTED  97 

THE  STRICKEN  KING  98 

THE  SECRET  MINISTRIES  loo 

THE  ANCHORITE  IOI 

HEROES  102 

LIFE  TRIUMPHANT  103 


TVILIGHT  AND  MUSIC 

HE  ran  her  fingers  o'er  the  ivory  keys, 
And  shook  a  prelude  from  them  as  a  bird 
Shakes  from  its  throat  a  song. 

Then  from  a  mist 
Of  fluctuant  melody  I  saw  arise 
Green  slopes  descending  to  a  murmuring  sea; 
A  conscious  heaven,  like  a  love-wreathed  face, 
Smilingly  brooded  o'er  the  raptured  earth; 
Cool  waters  took  the  light  from  marge  to  marge, 
Doubling  the  sky,  the  trees,  the  fir-fledged  shores, 
"With  tremulous  joy  in  their  inverted  world. 
I  heard  beneath  the  deepening  rose  of  dawn 
The  first  clear  f lutings  of  a  dew- wet  throat 
"Where  from  some  claustral  dell,  faint  as  a  dream, 
Floated  the  breath  of  waking  violets. 

The  music  changed :  she  the  enchantress  sat 
"With  white  neck  glimmering  where  the  tresses  fine 
Flowed  ripplingly  about  her,  and  her  head, 
Poised  like  a  lily,  delicately  drooped 
Above  the  nimble  hands  that  wrought  the  charm. 


Now  Spring  passed  through  the  orchards,  naked  boughs 

"Were  clothed  with  beauty,  love-forsaken  paths 

Grew  vocal  with  the  bliss  of  nesting-time. 

And  where  her  light  feet  fall  the  crocus  flamed. 

The  secret  fires  that  in  the  dark  had  burned 

Beneath  the  sod  through  "Winter's  frozen  hours 

Shot  up  in  spires  of  grass  and  curling  ferns, 

"While  warm  airs,  balmy  as  the  lids  of  sleep, 

Lifted  the  cowslip  by  gnat-haunted  fens. 

A  myriad  jocund  sounds  from  near  and  far 

Commingled — the  shrill  challenge  of  the  cock, 

The  plowman  shouting  to  his  team  afield, 

The  clang  of  smitten  anvils,  droning  bees, 

And  sparrows  twittering  round  the  mass-grown  savw. 

Again  the  music  changed :  a  crash  of  notes, 
Load,  stridulous,  contused  upon  the  ear, 
Startled  the  beauteous  vision  into  flight. 
Through  slanted  rain  I  saw  the  shivering  trees, 
Lashed  by  a  tempest,  stoop  their  suppliant  heads, 
"While  through  the  murky  air  the  tortured  leaves 
"Went  whirling  down  the  blast*    Black  rolling  clouds, 


Portentous,  huge,  and  crammed  with  fiery  bolts, 

Sent  sudden  warnings  forth  with  peal  on  peal 

Of  awful  detonation.     Pleasant  bovvers, 

Sweet  with  the  whisperings  of  old  tender  tales 

In  long  forgotten  Junes,  now  stripped  and  frayed, 

Stared  sadly  round  the  ruined  borders  where 

The  broken,  drenched,  wind-beaten  blossoms  lay. 

Then  sullenly  behind  the  bastioned  hills 

Sank  the  maned  thunder-heads  with  muffled  growls, 

The  sun  laughed  out  from  vapors  of  pearl  and  gold, 

And  earth  breathed  peace  once  more. 

Her  smooth  young  cheek, 

Flushed  with  the  hues  of  health,  in  purest  curves 
Leaned  sidewise,  and  the  lashes  downward  dropped 
Curtained  the  inward  glow  of  her  chaste  eyes* 
Then  for  an  instant  on  the  twilight  fell 
A  silence,  -while  her  fluttering  hands  were  stayed 
Above  the  expectant  keys;  till  one  by  one, 
Low  mournful  notes  crept  out  uppn  the  dusk, 
And  autumn  winds  sobbed  round  the  barren  fields, 
And  rustled  in  the  melancholy  aisles 
Of  desolate  -woodlands.    By  leaf-smothered  streams 
Swayed  withered  stalks  that  in  the  Summer's  prime, 


Fanned  softly  by  the  night-moth's  venturous  wings, 
Had  caught  in  fragrant  urns  the  starry  dews, 
And  spilt  fine  incense  on  the  enamored  air. 
Slowly  from  out  the  shadows  drew  a  shape 
"Winch,  thin  and  indeterminate  in  the  gloom, 
.Melted  and  grew  again  upon  my  sight, 
When  like  a  balefire  wavered  into  form 
A  death's  head  crowned  with  myrtle. 

The  pale  night 

Closed  in  at  length,  and  through  the  dark  I  heard 
A  sound  of  cradled  waters;  far  away 
Tolled-  solemnly  a  bell;  a  requiem 
Chanted  by  hollow  voices,  rose  and  fell, 
Ever  approaching,  ever  receding  still; 
Cressets  whose  flames  flared  backward  dipped  and  tossed, 
As  if  o'er  rugged  ways  by  careless  hands 
Borne  onward  round  a  bier.    Then  at  my  feet, 
On  the  dim  verge  forlorn  and  unexplored, 
The  languid  waves  pulsed  softly;  winds  blew  chill, 
And  I  awoke  to  see  her  upturned  face, 
Smiling  and  lovely,  as  the  music  died* 


REJUVENESCENCE 

HE  warm  light  streams  o'er  Enaa's  sunny  plain 
Round  which  the    yellow  bees  still  rove  in 

vain; 

Not  now,  as  erstwhile  in  the  golden  prime, 
White  ankles  twinkle  through  the  purple  thyme, 
While  bearded  grass  and  blossoms  honey-sweet 
Bend  at  the  sudden  touch  of  slender  feet. 
Long  since  the  blooms  fled  at  the  loud  alarms 
Of  ruthless  traffic.     In  her  sun-browned  arms 
Bearing  her  water-jar,  no  maiden  goes 
"Where  through  the  sedge  the  glancing  fountain  flows 
"With  song  less  blithe  than  hers  in  whose  dark  eyes, 
Timid  yet  glad,  love's  dawning  glory  lies. 
The  dust  long  since  has  mingled  with  her  heart, 
And  he  whose  love  she  bore  sleeps  where  the  dart 
Of  the  proud  Tyrian  pierced  him  in  the  fray : 
Gone,  gone  the  bliss  and  pain  of  that  old  day — 
The  shepherd  fluting  on  his  notched  reed, 
The  neatress  calling  through  the  dusky  brede 
Of  haunted  woodlands,  and  the  answering  bell 
"Where  straying  kine  browse  in  the  shady  dell. 


Aad  yet,  for  eyes  that  see,  these  days  which  pass 
Kindle  a  splendor  in  the  ancient  grass; 
Still  on  the  heights  the  ageless  wonder  shines 
"Where  morn  and  even  set  their  burning  signs. 
Yea,  whoso  keeps  his  early  vision  clear 
Beholds  the  footprints  of  the  immortals  near, 
And  sees  their  garments  trailing  from  the  brier 
"Where  the  light  gossamer  shakes  its  beads  of  fire. 
And  there  is  room  to-day  for  valorous  deeds, 
For  truth's  high  ministry  to  human  needs, 
And  wheresoe'er  love  has  its  trembling  birth 
Its  wizardry  renews  the  hoary  earth; 
Thus  evermore,  down  morning  paths  dew -pearled, 
The  spirit  of  delight  walks  through  the  world. 


THE  NEW  POET 

E  comes  not,  though  we  tarry  long ; 

He  comes  not — and  the  noon  is  near ; 
The  anxious  world  awaits  his  song ; 

Men  hush  their  very  hearts  to  hear. 


The  morning,  pearled  with  dew  and  rain, 
i     In  raiment  light  as  mists  that  pass, 
Peered  tiptoe  through  her  vines  in  vain 
To  see  his  footsteps  star  the  grass. 

And  still  the  orphaned  hours  take  wing ; 

The  languid  earth  can  scarce  rejoice 
Mid  buds  that  blow  and  birds  that  sing, 

Lacking  the  witchery  of  his  voice. 

Yet  we  may  pass  him  where  he  stands 

Smiled  on  by  the  benignant  skies, 
Fresh  daisies  in  his  sun-browned  hands — 

A  homeless  lad  with  dreamy  eyes. 

EVOLUTION 

^PHIJHE  dull  brute  reveled  in  primeval  slime ; 

Then  to  a  naked  soul  the  Lord  said,  "Go, 
Dwell  yond«r  in  that  groveliag  flesh  till  time 
O'er  the  sloped  forehead  make  love's  white 
ness  flow.** 


So  to  the  beast  went  down  the  unclothed  soul, 
Abode  in  twilight,  wallowed  in  the  mire, 

"Writhed  in  the  serpent,  burrowed  with  the  mole, 
Till  the  dim  eons  waked  it  to  aspire. 

Then  up  through  tortuous  shapes  it  rudely  grew, 
Saw  the  long  night  expand  into  the  day, 

Found  its  own  self,  and  round  it  slowly  drew 
A  human  vestment  from  the  sullen  clay. 

And  still  it  grows  past  what  the  eye  can  see ; 

Climbs  austere  peaks  of  hope  to  breathe  Heaven's  air 
Above  the  refuse  of  mortality, 

Nor  frets  to  know  what  form  it  yet  shall  wear. 


THE  THRALL  OF  SLEEP 

OES  the  time  seem  very  long, 
Vhile  you  lie  beneath  the  grass, 

Listening  to  the  blackbird's  song 
And  the  wings  that  come  and  pass  ? 


S 


Some  a  moment  pause  and  wait — 
Shy  wild  things  that  love  the  trees — 

Gurgling  to  each  feathered  mate 
Little  love-fraught  symphonies. 

Are  you  weary  lying  there 
"While  the  clouds  float  overhead, 

And,  through  cool  and  fragrant  air, 
Sift  their  dews  upon  your  bed  ? 

Do  you  never  long  to  rise 
And,  amid  the  ways  of  men, 

Catch  the  light  of  tender  eyes, 
Hear  some  kindly  speech  again? 

Do  you  dream  of  seasons  gone 

When  the  thorn  was  white  with  bloom, 
And  behind  the  peaks  of  dawn 

Sank  the  winter's  chill  and  gloom  ? 

Then  love  found  you,  and  your  heart, 
Brimmed  with  music  like  a  bird's, 

Mid  its  vine-leaves  sang  apart, 
Raptured  with  its  own  sweet  words. 


But  the  shadow  doom-like  fell, 
And  the  light  died  in  eclipse, 

And  the  silence  laid  its  spell 
On  your  heart  and  on  your  lips . 

And  the  summers  come  and  go, 

And  the  sun  wheels  round  and  round, 

And  the  winter's  punctual  snow 
Softly  wraps  your  peaceful  mound. 

Are  you  thus  content  to  lie, 

All  so  quiet  in  your  place, 
Turning  ever  toward  the  sky 

Your  unmoved  and  pallid  face? 

Tell  me,  does  there  sometimes  creep 
Through  your  veins  the  old  desire, 

Sundering  all  the  bonds  of  sleep, 
Mounting  like  a  sudden  fire? 

And  as  spring  moves  up  the  slope, 
In  the  fond  voice  of  the  dove 

Hear  you,  too,  the  voice  of  Hope, 
"  Waken,  waken,  waken,  love  ?  n 


10 


THE  REFLUENT  WAVE 

I 

AILY  we  dwell  beneath  the  selfsame  roof ; 
Our  unaverted  eyes  meet  as  of  yore  j 
In  small  fair  household  courtesies,  as  before, 


Oar  self -f orgetf ulness  is  put  to  proof ; 

"We  tread  a  common  path,  nor  hold  aloof 
From  the  old  scenes  which  erstwhile  wreathed  our  door 
"With  Eden's  early  grace,  yet  more  and  more 

Our  woven  lives  are  severed,  warp  and  woof. 

Not  now,  as  once,  a  simple  flower  imparts 

Its  tender  tale  to  our  united  souls ; 
Our  hands  clasp,  but  no  answering  gladness  starts 

"Wave-like  from  zones  where  love's  deep  ocean  rolls j 
"We  speak,  we  smile,  we  mingle,  yet  our  hearts 

Are  sundered  each  from  each  wide  as  the  poles. 

II 
Still — still — who  knows?  a  touch,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 

A  sweet  remembered  word,  some  sudden  way 

Of  speech,  awaking  memories  of  a  day 
"When  earth  laughed  forth  in  bloom,  and  all  the  sky 


ii 


Grew  opulent  with  love's  own  vermeil  dye, — 
Who  knows  but  one  of  these,  like  magic,  may 
Restore  the  glory,  and  the  rapturous  sway, 

Within  the  heart,  of  hair  and  lip  and  eye  ? 

Echoes  that  haunt  the  silence  of  the  past, 
Visions  of  joy  that  keep  a  vigil  vain, 

Fond  ghosts  that  wander  in  the  rayless,  vast, 
Unhallowed  night  with  empty  cries  of  pain, — 

Who  knows  but  these  may  all  prevail  at  last, 
And  love's  receding  wave  rush  back  again  ? 


FORGOTTEN 

LITTLE  mound  beneath  the  pine 

Upon  the  gradual  slope, 
Where  wandering  tendrils  of  the  vine 
Like  tremulous  fingers  grope ; 
There  happy  birds  the  livelong  day 

Ruffle  their  slender  throats, 
And  in  the  slanting  sunbeams  play 
A  myriad  glancing  motes. 


12 


A  handful  of  forgotten  earth 

Beneath  the  hushed  cool  flowers, 
Its  backward  span  from  death  to  birth 

Numbered  but  days  and  hours ; 
Yet  plenteous  tears  bedewed  the  sod 

That  wrapt  the  roseleaf  face, 
When  breaking  hearts  gave  back  to  God 

This  guerdon  of  his  grace. 

Years  wheel  like  shadows  o'er  the  grass ; 

Dust  are  the  hearts  that  bled ; 
Rumors  of  change  that  come  and  pass 

Vex  not  this  little  bed. 
O  sleep  that  knows  no  evil  dreams, 

O  dove-white,  sinless  breast, 
We,  wearying  mid  Time's  tearful  gleams, 

Envy  thine  early  rest. 

THE  PLAY 

HE  endless  mime  goes  on ;  new  faces  come, 
New  mummers  babble  in  each  other's  ears ; 

And  some  wear  masks  of  woe,  of  laughter  some, 
Nor  know  they  play  Life's  Comedy  of  Tears. 


IMOGEN  IN  THE  CAVE  OF  BELARIUS 

'  I  am  sick  still,  heartsick.    Pisanio, 
I'll  now  taste  of  thy  drug." 

— Cymbeline. 

HAT  is  this  that  o'er  me  steals — 

Death,  or  death's  sweet  counterfeit  ? 
"What  is  this  my  bruised  heart  feels 
That  medicines  the  grief  of  it? 
Softly,  softly  let  me  lie, 
If  I  sleep,  or  if  I  die. 

Not  the  obscene  things  of  night 

Beat  with  bat-like  wings  the  gloom — 

Seraphs  in  hushed  downward  flight 
Narrow  towards  my  rocky  room ; 

And  the  head  of  each  fair  one 

"Wears  a  halo  like  the  sun. 

Exhalations  from  the  grave 

Steep  not  yet  my  closing  eyes ; 
Round  this  ribbed  and  flinty  cave 

Very  dew  of  heaven  lies; 
And  cool  strewments,  fresh  as  May, 
Keep  the  virgin  smiles  of  day. 


Sad  and  weary  was  I  grown — 

Peace  the  dove  now  warms  my  breast ; 
Wintry  winds  have  on  me  blown — 

Zephyrs  now  breathe  round  my  rest ; 
At  my  feet  and  at  my  head 
Gentle  warders  watch  my  bed. 

And  if  haply,  lying  here, 

To  me  he  should  somehow  come, 
O'er  me  he  might  shed  a  tear 

For  the  orphaned  lips  struck  dumb; 
Or,  in  memory  of  past  bliss, 
On  my  forehead  lay  his  kiss. 

But  I  reck  not  what  may  be ; 

Couched  within  this  crypt- like  place, 
Let  the  furred  moss  cover  me. 

Ruddocks  mask  with  leaves  my  face; 
Softly,  softly  shall  I  lie, 
If  I  sleep,  or  if  I  die. 


A  MEMORY 

ETWTXT  the  blown  sands  and  the  flowing  sea 
We  stood  at  nightfall.    In  the  hollow  west 
The  ultimate  torch  of  day  flared  for  a  space, 
Sank  and  expired.    A  wind  whined  round  the  dunes, 
And  ragged  shreds  of  vapor,  salt  and  chill, 
Went  by  us  in  the  flaw.    We  had  no  tear 
To  shed,  no  word  to  say.    Our  stricken  heads 
Were  bowed  together,  and  her  streaming  hair 
Swept  o'er  my  cheek.     Swiftly  the  gray  night  fell 
And  like  a  huge  hand  blotted  sea  and  shore. 
I  heard  her  garments  rustle  in  the  gloom  ; 
A  moment  on  my  breast  she  laid  her  brow, 
Then  turned  and  from  the  darkness  where  she  fled, 
A  sob  came  down  the  gust.    'Twas  ages  since, 
But  memory  still  broods  on  that  black  hour. 

A  RUINED  ROSEBUD 

HERE  the  lamps  flare  beneath  the  rainy  skies, 
On  the  drenched  stones  a  sodden  rosebud  lies ; 
And  nigh  it,  huddled  in  a  loathsome  heap, 
Maunders  a  wretched  girl  in  drunken  sleep. 

16 


A  BROKEN  DREAM 

LL   night   I  dreamed   of   peace,  and    through 

deep  vales 
"Wandered   where    perfume-haunted   winds 

blew  free, 

And  saw,  like  summer  swallows,  purple  sails 
Slant  o'er  the  darkling  sea* 

The  gray  morn  rose ;  along  the  lurid  east 
I  saw  'War's  torn  and  bloody  ensign  float, 

And  the  swart  cannon,  like  a  huge  blind  beast, 
Roared  from  its  brazen  throat. 


A  "WIFE 

O  angel  she ;  she  hath  no  budding  wings  j 
No  mystic  halo  circles  her  bright  hair  ; 

But  lo !  the  infinite  grace  of  little  things, 
Wrought  for  dear  love's  sake,  makes  her  very 
fair. 


WITHDRAWN 


HERE  nun-faced  violets,  dashed  with  silver 

dew, 
Hide  in  the   moss-lipped   hollows  of    the 

bank, 

And  slender  osier  wands,  reared  rank  on  rank, 
Sway  o'er  the  waters  kissed  to  heaven's  own  blue ; 
Where  breathing  winds  balsamic  odors  strew 
Far  sweeter  than  Persephone  e'er  drank 
In  that  pale  garden  where  dream-zephyrs  prank 
The  dim  gray  slopes  with  rosemary  and  rue — 

There  dwells  she  whose  white  soul  is  like  the  eve 
When  the  clear  sun  has  vanished  from  the  skies, 

And  the  large  stars,  amid  the  twilight,  weave 

Through  trance  •  hushed  leaves  their  wiz  ard  traceries ; 

There  steal  no  rumors  of  the  world  to  grieve 
The  lucid  innocence  of  her  calm  eyes. 


18 


BECALMED 


HE  purple  skyline  round  the  dead  waste  sea 
Shimmers  athwart  the  palpitating  heat  ; 
Along  the  blistered  deck  no  scurrying  feet 
Are  heard,  nor  any  cheery  songs  to  free 
The  seaman's  treadmill  task  from  drudgery  ; 
Against  the  masts  the  sails  have  ceased  to  beat 
Their  light  tattoo,  while  windless  vapors  cheat 
The  haggard  eyes  that  watch  perpetually. 

O  soul  becalmed,  pray  God  some  breeze  may  fill 
Thine  idle  canvas,  and  the  wakened  deep 

Rise  and  dispute  thy  perilous  way,  until 
Thy  foam-  wreathed  prow  shall  o'er  the  billows  leap, 

And  with  the  joy  of  conquest  all  a-thrillt 
To  port  at  last  with  pennons  proudly  sweep. 

A  WOMAN 


ER  eyes  are  deeps  of  trustfulness ;  she  waits 
To  open  wide  to  love  her  heart's  white  gates, 
And,  like  Alcestis,  happy  she  to  give 
Her  life,  if  so  Admetus  still  may  live. 


FROM  AN  ANCIENT  URN 

TRANGER,  pause ;  Felicitas, 
Or  all  of  mortal  that  she  was, 
5£jLies  within  this  little  urn  ; 
Of  her  virtues  wouldst  thou  learn, 
Of  her  truth-enkindled  eye. 
Of  her  snow-white  chastity, 
Of  her  nature  wise  and  pure, 
Of  her  trust  that  did  endure 
Past  the  falsehood,  scorn,  and  shame 
Heaped  upon  her  spotless  name  ? — 
Then  within  his  lonely  house 
Seek  her  weeping,  widowed  spouse : 
He  will  tell  thee,  through  his  tears, 
How  amid  these  human  years, 
Once  a  spirit  from  above 
Bore  for  him  the  flower  of  love, 
Till  on  a  sudden  she  did  pass 
Home  to  heaven — Felicitas. 


LOVE  IS  DEAD 

)"W  Love  is  dead  ; 
|  Fold  close  each  filmy  van ; 
Twine  round  his  fallen  head 
"White  roses  ere  their  leaves  be  shed. 
The  winds  alone  shall  fan 
The  clustering  locks  back  from  his  pallid  brow ; 
A  touch  of  fingers  howe'er  light 
Were  all  too  heavy  on  those  temples  white 
And  waxen  cheeks. 
Now  let  his  grave  be  made 
There  where  the  laurel's  shade 
Dusks  the  small  brook  that  seeks 
To  quench  its  sobs  mid  trailing  grasses  green. 
Dear  Love  I  How  glad  his  eyes, 
In  the  old  days  when  under  kinder  skies, 
Mid  flowers  with  bursting  buds  between 
And  butterflies  afloat, 
He  shook  his  dewy   throat 
And  sang  for  very  joy 
Of  life,  poor  boy ! 
Now  he  is  dead ; 


21 


The  year  is  fled 

Beyond  recall, 

And  where  the  blossoms  all 

Overhung  his  happy  bower,  birds  are  mute, 

And  wandering  breezes  flute 

A  melancholy  strain. 

Bury  him  out  of  sight, 

Bury  him  from  the  light, 

Alike  from  joy  and  pain, 

From  sun  and  rain. 

There  is  not  one  to  weep 

That  he  is  gone,  so  let  his  grave  be  deep, 

And  nothing  more  be  said, 

For  Love  is  dead. 

THE  HARLEQUIN 

HO  laughs  in  motley  to  the  crowded  court, 
And  makes  for  idle  days  an  idle  sport, 
May  teach  us  yet,  in  life's  impartial  school, 
Tis  we  wear  asses'  ears  and  play  the  fool. 


ATAVISM 


Y,  it  was  so — to  the  dusk  river-side 

Glided  an  Indian  girl,  lithe  as  a  fawn, 

The  while,  half -naked,  bow  in  hand  I  crouched 

Low  in  the  rushes,  stirring  not  a  leaf 

And  scarcely  breathing,  as  she  softly  stept 

Into  her  slim  canoe  and  shot  it  forth 

Straight  as  an  arrow  on  its  noiseless  path ; 

Then  mist  and  darkness  quenched  her  like  a  star, 

And  all  my  wild  heart's  longing  followed  her. 

This  was  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  yet 

My  blood  leaps  with  the  flame  of  that  old  love. 

NOW  SLEEPS  THE  BREATHING  EARTH 

OW  sleeps  the  breathing  earth } 

Above,  like  an  inverted  cup, 

Smoke-stained  and  dim,  upsoars  the  night-filled 
sky. 

Swift  to  their  birth 
Come  myriad  ephemerae  that  die 
Ere  morn  hath  clambered  up 
The  eastern  crags  to  set  her  gonfalon 


Against  the  clouds. 

Behold,  anon, 

The  mists  wrap  their  cold  shrouds 

About  the  willows  where  the  sobbing  stream 

Forgets  its  jocund  day-song.    Let  me  dream, 

O  let  me  dream,  now  that  the  dark  is  come ; 

Now  that  the  stridulous  voices  all  are  dumb 

Which  maddened  sunlit  hours ; 

Yea,  let  me  dream;  the  night-moths  haunt  the  flowers, 

"While  nesting  birds  stir  on  the  sheltering  bough, 

And  one  large  star,  poised  o'er  the  hill's  dusk  brow, 

Glows  like  a  lamp. 

A  fragrant  damp 

Falls  on  the  world ;  O  fevered  breast, 

Drink  thou  the  balm  of  rest* 


VAE  VICTIS 

'NG  sleeps  Delilah;  but  at  Gaza  still 
The  shorn  deluded  Samsons  sweat  and  grind 
Amid  the  dust  and  clangor  of  the  mill, 
Treading  their  sordid  round,  forever  blind. 


A  FOOL  TO-DAY,  A  SAINT  TO-MORROW 


MOTHER  earth,  within  thine  ample  breast 
Make  for  thy  weary  child  a  quiet  bed ; 
The  mob  hath  raged  about  his  bloody  head 


Now  fold  him  to  thy  heart  and  let  him  rest. 

At  length  his  spirit  sinks,  his  pulses  faint : 
Yet  while  men  stoned  him  he  spared  not  to  cry 
Against  their  darling  sins ;  now  let  him  die, 

To-day  a  fool,  to-morrow  lo  I  a  saint. 


ET  EGO  IN  ARCADIA 

HAVE  been  there ;  IVe  seen  the  clear 
Blue  hills  through  lucent  atmosphere, 
Bright  streams  that  babbled  mid  their  ferns, 

Fair  lilies  lifting  fragrant  urns. 

And  I,  from  blossom-covered  trees, 

Have  heard  the  sound  of  gathering  bees, 

Of  birds  that  shook  their  dewy  breast 

With  song  beside  the  waiting  nest. 

In  the  cool  shadows  of  the  rocks 


Oft  have  I  watched  the  sleeping  flocks, 
The  while  the  shepherd,  with  his  crook 
Against  his  knee,  beside  the  brook 
Fashioned  with  skillful  hand,  at  need, 
His  panpipes  from  the  whispering  reed. 
And  down  the  wood-paths  long  and  dim, 
From  the  dark  fountain's  fringed  brim 
On  each  round  arm  a  dripping  jar, 
Their  happy  laughter  borne  afar, 
With  white  feet  twinkling  in  the  grass, 
I've  seen  the  smooth-limbed  maidens  pass. 
When  morn  with  tongues  of  arrowy  fire 
Has  tipped  the  fir  tree's  slender  spire, 
Through  ivied  doors  the  doves  have  wheeled, 
The  laboring  wains  have  rolled  afield, 
While  from  the  stocks  the  reaper's  song 
Echoed  the  rustling  aisles  along. 
And  when  beneath  the  rosy  skies 
The  evening  brought  its  lullabies, 
I've  heard,  in  accents  sweet  and  mild, 
A  mother  crooning  o'er  her  child, 
Her  every  heart-beat  a  dumb  prayer 
For  the  dear  being  pillowed  there. 


26 


And  I  have  heard  the  night  wind  sigh, 
v  And  seen  the  low  stars  burning  nigh, 
And  caught  the  firefly's  wizard  spark 
Out-struck  amid  the  perfumed  dark. 
These  have  I  seen  :  the  secret  gold 
Where  curves  the  rainbow's  radiant  fold, 
The  mountain's  cleft  whence  leaps  the  spring, 
The  fays  that  foot  their  moonlight  ring — 
Things  ever  seen  of  children's  eyes 
Ere  grown  age-blurred  and  weary-wise — 
Things  •which  the  anointed  still  may  see ; 
I,  too  t  have  been  in  Arcady. 

APRIL 

on  the  slopes  her  tender  feet  are  pressed ; 
Her  mistlike  garments  stream  upon  the  breeze; 
JHer  hair  is  blown  across  her  rosy  breast, 
Where  fall  the  shadows  of  the  budding  trees. 

The  light  of  hope  shines  in  her  dewy  eyes ; 

She  breathes  the  promise  of  the  vernal  day; 
And  as  she  fares  beneath  the  dappled  skies 

Unconsciously  she  trolls  a  little  lay* 


She  knows  where  springs  the  earliest  daffodil, 

"Where  the  young  crocus  lifts  its  whispering  flame ; 

And  as  she  slowly  climbs  from  hill  to  hill, 
A  thousand  happy  voices  flute  her  name. 

The  bleak  and  darkling  days  are  overpast ; 

Music  outflows  from  founts  long  sealed  and  dumb ; 
Soft  airs  blow  sweet  where  shrieked  the  icy  blast ; — 

O  wintry  heart,  thine  April,  too,  is  come. 

A  GREAT  MAN 

ERENE  he  trod  the  awful  verge  of  night, 
And  on  the  black  and  weltering  chaos  there 
He  looked  with  unaffrighted  eyes,  if  so 
Some  star  of  hope  with  softly  pulsing  heart 
He  might  discern.    Against  his  brow  he  felt 
The  thin  cold  air  from  myriad  beating  wings 
That  rose  from  out  the  void  and  past  him  swept — 
The  obscene  things  of  darkness  from  the  pit 
Rushing  with  raucous  cries.    A  tranquil  ear 
He  bent  to  catch  the  secret  whisperings 

28 


Of  unseen  visitants  whose  rustling  vans 

Betimes  he  heard  beside  him  where  he  passed. 

He  conned  his  own  soul  and  its  various  needs, 

And  felt  the  germs  of  immortality 

Stir  in  his  nature.    When  he  could  not  see, 

He  still  believed,  and  deemed  that  he  was  blest, 

Though  men  turned  from  him  with  averted  face, 

And  asp-like  tongues  spat  venom  on  his  name. 

The  tearless  pathos  of  humanity 

Touched  to  the  quick  his  brooding  sympathies, 

And  the  poor,  brute-like,  blindly  struggling  world 

Smote  sometimes  its  bruised  hands  against  his  breast, 

"Waking  a  stormy  music  from  the  tense 

And  quivering  chords  strung  like  a  wind-harp  there. 

He  meekly  lived  unconscious  of  himself, 

And  being  thus  unconscious,  he  was  great. 

THE  CRISIS 

;  LL  night  we  watched  the  staring  dial 

"Within  the  chamber  hushed  and  dim ; 
Faith  trembled  towards  its  hour  of  trial, 
Hope  cowered  amid  the  shadows  grim. 


29 


Outside,  the  night  was  drenched  with  rain ; 

Rude,  viewless  fingers  tore  the  vines  ; 
The  winds  whined  at  the  window-pane, 

And  grieved  amid  the  rocking  pines. 

We  held  our  hearts,  and  waited  still, 

While  came  and  went  her  fluttering  breath, 

And  on  her  drawn  pale  brow  a  chill 
Seemed  to  foretoken  imminent  death. 

And  then  we  prayed ;  our  streaming  eyes 
Ran  down  in  tears ;  when  lo !  a  rest 

Like  balm  bedewed  us  from  the  skies, 
And  peace  unmeasured  filled  each  breast. 

Then  from  its  glossy  throat  a  bird 
Outsent  a  clear  sweet  note ;  the  mild 

Fresh  morning  woke ;  and  joy  !  we  heard 
Her  dear  voice  call  us,  and  she  smiled. 


CHARACTER 

OT  in  soft  dreams  of  pleasure  is  it  wrought, 
Nor  is  it  forged  in  hours  of  slothful  thought, 
But  in  the  furnace-heat  of  strenuous  years 
Time  shapes  its  grace  and  tempers  it  with  tears. 


MAIDEN  AND  BRIDE 

HE  moves  amid  a  surf  of  wind-blown  flowers; 
I  see  her  where  her  garments  f  low  and  shine ; 
3  Her  tresses,  Danae-like,  in  golden  showers 
Ripple  from  off  her  lyric  brow  and  twine 
About  her  supple  throat,  while  in  her  eyes 
The  haunting  spirit  of  youth  unshadowed  lies, 

A  shy  sweet  smile  about  her  parted  lips 

Hovers  in  rosy  dimples ;  on  her  breast, 
As  jealous  of  the  buds  there  in  eclipse 

Of  foam-white  blooms,  one  tender  hand  is  pressed ; 
She  loves  and  dreams  round  all  the  meadows  wide, 
Till  .Hay  the  maiden  shall  be  June  the  bride. 


THE  SHELL 

HE  world  is  but  a  hollow  breathing  shell 
By  some  chance  wave  cast  on  these  shores  of 

time, 

Still  keeping  in  its  ever-haunting  chime 
The  tameless  voice  of  chaos'  ancient  spell. 
At  whiles  in  its  dark  concave  thunders  swell, 
"Waking  the  echoes  of  creation's  prime, 
And  solemn  memories  of  that  day  sublime 
When  through  void  gulfs  of  space  light  did  up-well. 

Lo,  evermore  within  the  heavy  ear 

Of  sleeping,  sodden,  crass  mortality 
It  sobs  its  ceaseless  warning,  year  by  year, 

That  o'er  it  once  again  shall  heave  night's  sea ; 
And  whoso  hearkens,  hushed  and  tense,  may  hear 

The  awful  whispers  of  eternity. 


DEFEATED 

FOLLOW  not  by  paths  I  knew  of  yore 

The  way  to  heart-peace  and  unvexed  content  \ 
The  strenuous  wrestlings  of  my  soul  are  o'er ; 
The  strength  that  bore  me  onward,  now  is  spent, 

Here  will  I  stay  me  in  this  quiet  place, 
Far  from  the  strivings  of  the  clamorous  world  j 

The  lucid  dews  shall  lave  my  parched  face, 
The  night's  cool  shades  shall  o'er  me  be  unfurled. 

I  will  not  question  more  of  well  or  ill, 
Or  why  I  failed  within  the  bannered  lists; 

Welcome  this  hour,  the  evening's  gloom  and  chill, 
The  silent  woodlands  and  the  silver  mists. 

The  whip-poor-will  wails  from  his  dusk  retreat ; 

The  fire-fly's  mimic  lightning  in  the  grass 
Flames  where  one  pallid  blossom  at  my  feet 

Breathes  its  sweet  incense  on  the  winds  that  past. 


33 


Gone  are  the  day's  rude  rjoises  and  alarms ; 

Shorn  and  defeated,  lo !  I  seek  but  rest ; 
O  soothing  night,  fold  round  me  thy  wide  arms, 

Pillow  my  head  upon  thy  generous  breast. 

THE  JESTER 

HEY  rode  together  down  the  claustral  aisles 
Of  the  dim  woodland.    From  the  cool  retreats 
And  leafy  privacies  the  mated  birds 
Ruffled  their  throats  in  song.    High  overhead 
The  sun  coursed  a  diaphanous  sky,  and  sent 
Through  swaying  boughs  his  javelins  of  gold. 
A  slender  stream  rang  all  its  crystal  bells 
Twixt  banks  of  moss  and  fern  beside  the  way 
Whither  they  passed  unheeding.     The  sleek  steeds 
Set  noiseless  hoofs  on  mast  and  russet  leaves, 
The  last  year's  fallen  glory.    Each  was  young, 
And  she  was  very  fair.    His  arm  was  zoned 
About  her ;  the  twin  roses  in  her  cheeks 
Flamed  as  she  drooped  against  him,  her  bright  hair 
Flowed  o'er  his  shoulder,  and  her  dancing  plumes 


34 


Swept  his  bronzed  cheek. 

Then  were  they  ware  of  one 
Who,  bowed  and  tattered,  in  the  shadow  stood 
Leaning  upon  a  staff.    His  sightless  eyes 
"Were  bent  upon  the  twain,  a  flickering  hand 
Was  out-thrust  towards  them,  while  across  his  breast, 
Stained  with  unseasonable  rains  and  dews, 
The  legend  ran,  "  Sweet  folk,  alms  for  the  blind." 
With  little  sounds  of  pity  they  drew  rein, 
Upon  the  pleading  palm  a  coin  was  laid, 
And  conscience-free  they  pricked  along  their  path; 
Till  suddenly,  from  behind,  a  peal  of  mirth 
Caught  them  as  with  a  buffet,  and  they  turned ; 
Then  from  his  face  the  beggar  plucked  a  mask, 
His  ragged  garments  from  his  body  slipt, 
And  they  beheld  the  dazzling  wings  of  Love« 

THE  POTTER'S  CLAY 

I  PON  the  potter's  flying  wheel  the  clay 
Knows  not  the  purpose  of  its  plasmic  day; 
So  we  upon  this  blindly-whirling  sphere 
Are  shaped  to  ends  which  do  not  yet  appear. 


35 


A  HAUNTED  HEART 

Vale,  vale,  in  seternutn  vale. 

UR  ways  diverge ;  we  shall  not  meet  again ; 
But  that  old  season,  gone  beyond  recall, 
Shall  never  quite  pass  from  your  life,  nor  all 
Forgotten  be  its  pleasure  and  its  pain. 
Hushed  is  the  music  of  the  summer  rain 
Among  the  flowers;  no  more  the  lilies  tall 
Flame  in  the  garden  •where  for  us  the  small 
Vine-cloistered  minstrel  warbled  his  refrain. 

The  last  word  has  been  spoken  and  we  part; 

Vanished  the  dream  which  was  too  bright  to  stay; 
Hate  from  her  quiver  draws  a  final  dart 

Full-fledged  with  scorn  and  deadly  will  to  slay. 
Farewell!  the  hollow  chambers  of  your  heart 

Shall  know  henceforth  the  ghost  of  a  dead  day. 


THE  PRISONER  AND  THE  LARK 

What  joyous  tilings,  be  said,  are  those  larks  In  the  spring 
sun !  Do  you  know  that  pathetic  story  of  the  lark  and  of  the 
man  freed  from  the  Bastille  during  the  French  Revolution? 
As  he  came  from  prison,  some  one  took  pity  on  him  and 
gave  him  a  few  sous.  Passing  down  the  street,  he  saw  a 
lark  in  a  cage ;  and  the  man,  who  had  been  In  prison  many 
years,  could  not  tear  the  sight  of  the  Imprisoned!  bird.  With 
his  few  poor  sous  he  bought  It  and  set  It  free.  The  lark  shot 
up  to  heaven  singing  a  jubilant  song  of  triumph— but  the  next 
moment  dropped  dead  at  the  man's  feet,  dead  wltn  excess 
Of  joy. — Memoir  of  Alfred  Lord  Tennyson. 

UT  of  the  prison,  stooped  and  old, 

Out  of  the  dungeon  dank,  he  came ; 
The  light  on  the  pavement  burned  like  gold : 
The  blue  of  the  skies  was  shot  with  flame. 

His  eyes,  so  long  in  darkness  bound, 

'Wavered  and  blenched  before  the  sun ; 
The  city  streets,  with  sound  on  sound, 

His  shrinking  spirit  seemed  to  stun. 

Helpless  and  dazed,  along  the  way 

His  footsteps  wandered  here  and  there ; 
The  thin  white  locks  on  his  shoulders  lay ; 

He  drank  as  athirst  the  free  sweet  air. 


37 


Then  some  kind  soul  with  pitying  eyes 
Looked  on  those  features  worn  and  gaunt, 

And  saw  beneath  their  wan  surprise 
The  shadowy  haggard  mask  of  want. 

So  into  his  tremulous  pallid  hand, 

The  dole  of  a  few  poor  sous  was  thrust ; 

There  were  famishing  hosts  in  that  moidered  land ; 
The  gift  would  purchase  at  least  a  crust. 

Down  the  long  street,  with  feeble  tread, 
Broken,  bewildered,  the  old  man  went, 

As  one  alive  who  has  long  been  dead, 
Or  one  in  a  desert  whose  strength  is  spent. 

But  hark  I  upon  his  startled  ears 
What  clear,  sad  notes  are  those  that  fall? 

"What  strain  is  that  which  again  he  hears? 
From  his  far-off  youth  what  voices  call? 

He  sees  once  more  the  lucid  streams 
That  from  the  upland  pastures  flow ; 

Beside  the  folded  flock  he  dreams ; 
At  dawn  he  hears  the  red  cock  crow. 


He  sees  the  cattle  in  the  byre 

Where  the  gray  dews  of  morning  lie ; 
With  swelling  throat  and  heart  of  fire 

The  lark  is  fluting  in  the  sky. 

But  no !  as  with  a  roar  of  rage 
The  city  strikes  his  vision  dead ; 

There  in  its  narrow  wicker  cage 
A  captive  lark  pipes  o'er  his  head. 

With  sudden  tears  his  heart  overflows; 

Scarce  one  hour  since  he,  too,  was  where 
The  ruthless  walls  around  him  rose, 

And  on  him  blew  death's  chilling  air. 

Ah  piteous  I  yonder  hapless  bird 
Its  drooping  wings  shall  beat  in  vain 

Against  its  bars ;  be  his  the  word 
To  give  it  the  free  skies  again. 

So  from  his  tattered  coat  he  drew 
The  scanty  coins ;  now  his  the  right 

To  swing  the  cage-door  wide ;  upf  lew 
The  lark  with  gurglings  of  delight. 


39 


A  moment  there  he  hears  that  bliss 

O'er  all  the  tumult  of  the  street, 
A  soaring  song; — but  -what  is  this 

That  falls  and  flutters  at  his  feet  ? 

Poor  little  shattered  thing,  how  brief 
The  flight  to  freedom  it  did  take ! 

O  fainting  one,  bear  thou  thy  grief ! 
With  rapture,  too,  the  heart  can  break. 

OPPORTUNITY 

rustling  wings  she  swept  from  heaven 
and  stood 

>•  Beside  me  where  I  loitered  in  the  way. 
Her  brow  was  calm,  and  in  her  outstretched  hand 
She  bore  a  gift — a  virgin  bud  that  blushed 
Disparting  its  green  sheath.     The  restless  motes 
Danced  round  me  in  the  shimmering  light,  the  while 
I  wantoned  through  the  day.    She  spake  no  word, 
But  paused  a  little  space  and  looked  at  me 
"With  silent  scorn ;  then  plumed  her  shining  vans 
In  sudden  flight,  nor  ever  came  again. 


40 


THE  ENDLESS  RENEWING 

silence  and  in  darkness,  hour  by  hour, 
Unseen  beneath  the  winter's  ermine  mask, 
)To  bring  again  the  swelling  bud  and  flower, 
Nature  hath  wrought  at  her  unending  task. 

No  grass-blade  groping  towards  the  light  above, 
No  rootlet  feeling  for  the  vernal  rains, 

Shall  miss  her  secret  ministry  of  love, 
Fed  by  the  subtle  ichor  of  her  veins. 

Ah,  can  it  be,  when  at  her  quickening  breath 

The  world's  vast  pulses  wake,  and  thrill,  and  leap, 

Our  loved  ones,  in  the  viewless  halls  of  of  death, 
Alone  shall  lie  sealed  in  unbroken  sleep? 

Nay,  let  us  trust  the  soul's  divine  desire : 

Beyond  our  fluttering  hopes,  our  faltering  lore, 

God's  power  shall  lift  us  like  celestial  fire, 
And  mounting  life  shall  triumph  evermore. 


ROBERT  BROWNING 

(May  7,  1812.) 


he  came  ;  before  his  ardent  feet 
The  ways  divided  j  in  his  eager  face 
Glowed  warm  the  light  of  pure  resolve,  and  fleet, 
Soft  zephyrs  brought  unto  the  charmed  place 
Fine,  mystic  incense  from  some  far-off  clime, 
While  o'er  him  breathed  the  morning  in  its  prime. 

Three  calm-eyed  lustrous  virgins  nigh  him  stood, 
With  rose-leaf  lips  curved  in  a  tender  smile  ; 

He  on  them  looked  and  knew  that  they  were  good. 
Then  one,  whose  voice  like  music  did  beguile 

With  dearest  accents,  wooed  him  from  the  spot  ; 

He  bowed  and  hearkened,  but  he  answered  not. 

The  second  spake  :  before  his  quickened  eyes 

Fair  scenes  uprose;  clear  streams  their  lengths  unrolled 

Through  wide  and  luminous  valleys  picture-wise  ; 
The  blue  overhead  was  flecked  with  white  and  gold  ; 

Him  then  with  brush  and  palette  did  she  prove, 

But  still  his  waiting  spirit  did  not  move. 


The  third  that  called  him  bore  a  golden  lyre 
Against  her  bosom,  and  unfading  bays 

Girt  her  smooth  brow  j  then  sudden  sweet  desire 
Upleaped  within  him,  and  immortal  lays 

From  out  his  inmost  heart  unbidden  came, 

While  all  his  life  burned  toward  her  like  a  flame. 

And  lo,  he  worshiped  at  her  shining  feet, 
Then  rose  to  follow  her  o'er  many  a  waste ; 

He  hungered,  and  she  gave  him  tears  for  meat ; 
She  slaked  his  thirst  with  waters  harsh  to  taste  ; 

Thus  having  found  him  steadfast  to  the  core, 

She  turned  on  him  a  radiant  face  once  more. 

Ye  ministers  of  fire,  ye  flaming  seers, 
High  prophets  of  the  soul,  with  you  consort 

One  who  hath  place  among  his  own  great  peers, 
One  who  hath  seen  the  elements  disport 

In  vast  abysses  where  the  thunders  sleep, 

And  noisome  dragons  their  fell  vigils  keep. 


43 


And  his  the  glory  and  the  equal  dower 
Of  star-crowned  love  and  beauty  passionless ; 

The  eloquence  of  the  golden-hearted  flower, 
The  faith  that  wrestles  in  the  wilderness ; 

Still  fares  he  forth  from  dawn-lit  paths  dew-pearled, 

A  singing  pilgrim  through  a  sighing  world. 


AD  VESPERAM 

"Im  wundersch5nen  Monat  Mai 
Als  alle  Kuospeu  sprangen." 

\HERE  has  my  morning  with  its  music  fled, 
"When  sweet  sounds  swept  like  rain  along 

the  hills, 

When  happy  blooms  with  lucent  dews  were  fed, 
And  tremulous  laughter  tinkled  from  the  rills? 

Then  rainbowed  vistas  ravished  Hope's  young  eye ; 

Green  upland  slopes  were  white  with  nibbling  flocks  j 
O'er  springing  harvests  bent  the  peaceful  sky, 

And  nunlike  violets  smiled  by  mossy  rocks. 


44 


Thea  ran  like  wine  the  quick  blood  through  my  veins, 
As  spring's  rich  ichor  shoots  through  root  and  bough ; 

My  glad  soul  echoed  back  the  thrush's  strain, 
And  mocked  the  plowman  whistling  at  his  plow. 

O  morning  time  of  youth !    O  voice  of  spring  I 
Vanished  long  since, — ah,  long  since  fallen  dumb ! 

Now  sad  and  weary  lips  forget  to  sing ; 

The  old  sweet  madness  never  more  will  come. 

For  the  day  droops  and  shadows  are  grown  long ; 

In  ruined  gardens  lies  the  summer's  gold ; 
From  the  brown  pasture  dies  the  cricket's  song, 

And  on  wet  banks  the  light  lies  gray  and  cold. 

Round  the  shorn  meadows  sifts  the  early  rime ; 

The  hills  are  dark,  and  low  clouds  trail  above  ; 
Yet,  O  my  heart,  sing  in  this  evening-time, 

Mid  summer's  tarnished  glory  dream  of  love. 


45 


THE  LAST  SHELTER 


HE  light  of  hope  dawned  in  her  girlish  eyes, 
As  morning  smiles  in  the  pellucid  skies — 
O  bliss  of  life  ! 


A  shadow  fell,  hope's  light  died  in  eclipse, 
And  hands  of  flame  to  anguish  touched  her  lips — 
O  bane  of  love  ! 

Now  in  the  inviolate  dark  she  lies  at  rest, 
While  tides  of  peace  brood  o'er  her  tranced  breast — 
O  longed-for  night ! 

In  vain  the  world's  shrill  blasts  above  her  rave, 
Rumors  of  shame  sweep  harmless  round  her  grave — 
O  friendly  death  ! 

THE  FIRST  SNOWFALL 


NCE  more  the  silent  snowfall ;  heaven  assoils 
Of  shame  alike  bare  field  and  naked  tree ; 

Thus  o'er  our  banal  lusts  and  sordid  broils 
Falls  the  white  mantle  of  God's  charity. 


A  PAVEMENT  FOSSIL 

EONS  ago,  in  its  primeval  slime, 

It  throve  throughout  that  dim  chaotic  morn, 
"When  the  long  twilight  of  unfolding  time 
Still  brooded  o'er  a  world  but  lately  born. 

On  the  palimpsest  of  the  sodden  clay, 
The  obscene  creatures  that  did  fly  or  creep 

Left  the  rude  record  of  their  uncouth  play 
And  conflicts  with  the  dragons  of  the  deep. 

Aa  unimagined  day  of  raucous  cries, 

Through  air  obscured  by  countless  bat-like  wings, 
Of  monsters,  roaring  at  the  shuddering  skies, 

In  deadly  fight  with  mailed  and  scaly  things. 

Then  the  earth  groaned  in  travail  j  mighty  throes 
Rent  her  huge  ribs  asunder,  as  the  floods 

In  weltering  gulfs  o'er  sinking  mountains  rose, 
"While  new  peaks  burst  from  the  waste  solitudes. 


47 


But  the  unstable  waves  roll  back  again, 

And  from  the  laboring  bosom  of  the  world, 

As  from  a  prostrate  Titan  mad  with  pain, 

The  reeking  continents  are  once  more  uphurled. 

So  the  vast  drama  surges  on,  and  still 

CXer  all  the  life  dissolved  in  dust  and  night 

Life  mounts  and  triumphs  evermore,  until 

Man  lifts  his  thought-wreathed  brow  towards  the  light. 

And  here  where  the  great  city,  street  by  street, 
Pours  its  full  tides  with  ceaseless  ebb  and  flow, 

Unheeded  and  unheeding,  myriad  feet 
Spurn  this  dull  relic  of  the  long  ago. 

None  reads  the  lesson:  after  noise  and  strife, 
Darkness  and  silence;  o'er  man's  fallen  head, 

Far  ages  hence,  perhaps  some  higher  life 
In  crowded  marts  may  pass  with  busy  tread. 

If  then  about  the  world  blow  kindlier  airs, 
If  fairer  eves  and  sweeter  mornings  shine, 

And  hearts  no  longer  break  beneath  their  cares, 
For  all  the  old  life  gone  who  shall  repine  ? 

48 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  FAME 

FOLLOW,  f ollow,  but  I  win  it  not ; 
I  see  its  golden  radiance  from  afar 
Through  leagues  of  darkness  fallen  like  a  blot 
On  the  wide  landscape ;  still  I  seek  the  star. 

I  seek  the  star,  yet  know  not  surely  where 
The  pathway  lies  by  tangled  wood  and  fen ; 

The  night  is  chill,  and  through  the  ghostly  air 
Thin  voices  call  again  and  yet  again. 

I  see  it  wavering  through  the  hollow  dark ; 

Anon  it  brightens,  sinks,  and  seems  to  die ; 
Then  slowly  kindles  like  a  little  spark, 

Until  it  throbs  and  burns  against  the  sky. 

And  when  'tis  mine  at  length,  and  -wearied  quite 
I  pause  forspent  where  winds  blow  cool  and  damp, 

I  find,  mid  mocking  whispers  of  the  night, 
Naught  but  a  firefly  bearing  his  small  lamp. 


49 


THE  UPPER  REALMS 

|  ERENE,  apart,  unvcxcd  of  clamant  years. 
As  the  lean-headed  eagles  build  on  high 

Mid  towering  crags,  and  see  the  clouds  go  by 

Far  down  with  lightnings  torn  and  know  no  fears, 
So  where  old  Time  his  austere  front  uprears 
Against  the  cold  and  solitary  sky, 
I've  seen  the  morn's  imperious  banners  fly, 
And  stars  expiring  weep  celestial  tears. 

Lonely  but  glad,  calm  but  not  cheerless  grown, 
I've  heard  the  solemn  converse  of  the  night, 

Have  caught  the  low  and  inarticulate  moan 
Of  pines  upon  the  immemorial  height ; 

Yet  my  rapt  soul  has  dwelt  not  all  alone, 
For  lucid  wings  have  o'er  me  stayed  their  flight. 

RECOMPENSE 

HILL  is  the  hollow  dark, 

And  the  night  long, 
Still  the  dawn  cometh,  hark! 

Somewhere  a  song. 


Rough  is  the  way  we  go, 
And  the  heart  sore, 

Still  the  night  cometh,  lo ! 
Rest  lies  before. 


THE  PARTING 

IFE,  wilt  thou  leave  me  now  ?  o'er  all  the  way. 
Or  rough  or  smooth,  together  we  have  fared ; 
The  selfsame  scanty  cruse  we  still  have  shared. 
And,  whether  Fortune  smiled  or  frowned,  were  gay. 
Duty's  stern  voice  hath  called  j  we  did  not  stay 
To  doubt,  but  greatly  loved  and  greatly  dared ; 
Tempests  have  beaten  on  us ;  we  have  bared 
Our  lifted  brows  unshadowed  by  dismay. 

Dear  comrade  of  a  thousand  hardships  past, 

Of  tender  chidings,  confidences  sweet, 
Is  this  the  end,  and  must  we  part  at  last  ? 

Go  we  our  separate  ways  no  more  to  meet  ? 
The  silence  waits  us ;  round  us  falls  the  vast 

Waste  night,  but  still  we  follow  Hope's  light  feet. 


TO 

we  have  wrought  together 
Through  the  wasting  years, 
In  serene  and  troubled  weather, 
Mocked  of  hopes  and  fears ; 
Now  beyond  Time's  lessening  tether, 
Lo,  the  end  appears. 

"While  the  certain  dusk  advances, 

Nestle  at  my  side ; 
Sunset  kindles  in  thy  glances, 

O  my  faithful  bride  ; 
Eve  thy  fairness  but  enhances, 

Past  youth's  rosy  pride. 

So  our  courage  shall  not  alter 

"With  the  changing  light, 
Nor  our  onward  footsteps  falter 

Toward  the  coming  night ; 
Still  our  hearts  con  love's  sweet  psalter, 

And  the  way  is  bright. 


THE  FRUITFUL  YEAR 

HE  stands  amid  her  rustling  stocks ; 

On  drooping  leaves  and  berried  vines, 
"Where  late  birds  sing  in  sunny  nooks, 
She  sets  her  mystic  signs. 

Her  ample  bosom  heaves  and  falls 
'With  the  calm  breath  of  sweet  content ; 

She  hears  the  reapers'  cheery  calls 
"With  sounds  of  laughter  blent. 

Before  her  gaze  fair  visions  rise : 

Garners  with  generous  fruitage  stored, 

And  hearthfire  lights  in  children's  eyes 
Grouped  round  a  smiling  board. 


THE  NEWCOMER 

HEAR  a  little  footstep 

Fall  lightly  on  the  floor, 
And  slowly  on  its  hinges  turns 
The  half-reluctant  door. 


53 


A  child  stands  on  the  threshold, 
Dimpled  and  shy  and  fair, 

"With  baby  finger  at  his  lips, 
And  soft  wind-raffled  hair. 

He  pauses  for  a  word  or  nod, 
Betwixt  a  smile  and  tear ; 

Ah,  let  me  bid  him  welcome — 
It  is  the  infant  year. 


THE  BLIND  ARCHER 

jEAUTIES,  guess  ye  where  he  bides? 

|  In  some  flowery  hedge  he  hides, 
Folding  close  each  filmy  van ; 
From  his  mother's  side  he  ran, 
'Wanton,  wilful,  naked,  blind ; 
If  the  boy  ye  chance  to  find, 
Fly  the  spot  or  yet  his  dart 
Quivers  in  your  stricken  heart. 


54 


Evermore  he  bends  his  ear, 
Listening  for  a  footstep  near, 
Lurking  till  some  hapless  maid 
Nigh  his  rosy  lair  hath  strayed ; 
To  the  cord  a  winged  shaft 
Sets  he  then  with  cruel  craft ; 
Hark  ye  I  sightless  though  he  is, 
Rarely  doth  this  archer  miss. 


AT  SUNSET 

that  the  toilful  day  is  done, 
I  rest  me  here  awhile, 
jAnd  loose  my  burdens,  one  by  one, 
"Where  the  slant  sunrays  isle 
This  little  bosk  in  meadows  fair, 

Far  from  the  noisy  beat 
Of  clashing  hoofs,  on  pavements  bare, 
And  tread  of  hurrying  feet. 


55 


Cool  waftures  from  the  twilight  wood 

Breathe  balm  upon  my  eyes  ; 
The  shy  sweet  peace  of  solitude 

Like  dew  about  me  lies ; 
Thin  vapors  lift  their  filmy  veils 

Upon  the  evening  air, 
And  every  conscious  bloom  exhales 

The  perfume  of  a  prayer. 

THE  VEILED  DESTINY 

]HE  dark  had  not  yet  come,  but  day  was  fallen 
Among  the  ruddy  embers  ot  the  west ; 
Sweetly  the  dew  was  gathering  on  the  flowers, 

And  late  bees,  heavy-laden,  homeward  turned. 

Somewhere,  far  off,  amid  the  dusky  fields, 

One  solitary  bird  above  its  nest 

Uttered  its  little  cry  of  anxious  joy. 

In  mine  your  hand  lay,  like  a  snowflake  chill, 

And  in  the  shadow  of  your  eyes  I  read 

Our  mutual  doom.    No  whispered  word  availed. 

A  single  star,  amid  the  curtaining  clouds, 

56 


leered  out  and  twinkled  coldly.    And  our  lips 
Met  once,  not  with  a  swift  touch  full  of  fire, 

But  passionless,  as  ashes  lay  between 

Then  from  my  empty  life  your  presence  passed 

Forever,  while  upon  the  insensate  world 

The  stark  night  closed,  and  Hope  lay  newly  dead. 

AFTER  THE  BRIDAL 

O,  she  was  reared  for  this, 

To  leave  the  house  silent  at  last  I 

No  singing  more, 

No  laughter  nor  young  bliss  j 

Out  from  my  door, 

Out  from  the  dove-white  past, 

She  goes  ne'er  to  return  a  maid ; 

All  unafraid 

She  passes  into  the  great  -world  with  him. 

Does  he  so  love  her  then 

That,  dwarfing  love  of  other  men, 

His  love  out-towers  the  thought  and  care, 

The  eyes  with  vigils  dim, 

The  daily  toiling  and  the  secret  prayer, 


57 


That  forge  a  parent's  life? 

To  be  a  wife  I 

O  little  daughter  with  the  shining  hair, 

O  youthful  maiden  with  the  dainty  feet, 

O  tender  woman  in  whose  glances  meet 

The  spring  and  summer  sweet, 

That  thou  mightst  find  thy  mate 

Is  this  thy  filial  gift? — this  desolate 

And  sunless  room 

"Where,  clothed  with  gloom, 

A  bowed  and  broken  man, 

His  days  a  span, 

Sits  through  long  vacant  watches  still  to  stare 

Across  a  widowed  hearthstone  chill  and  bare. 

IN  THE  MARKET-PLACE 

MUSE,  we  have  piped,  but  none  have  danced, 

And  now  we  sit  in  the  market-place, 
("While  the  shadows  of  noon  on  the  flags  lie 

tranced), 
"With  idle  fingers  and  drooping  face. 

58 


Why  should  we  vex  our  souls  to  send 

Our  laboring  breath  through  the  hollow  reed  ? 

No  ears  are  charmed,  save  those  that  bend 
To  scrannel  straws  at  the  lips  of  greed. 

Come,  let  us  rise  from  these  sordid  ways ; 

Let  us  flee  to  the  conscious  woods  and  streams, 
And  though  we  have  fallen  on  evil  days, 

We  will  dwell  apart  and  keep  our  dreams* 

MILTON 

"WINGED  and  radiant  spirit,  yet  a  man ! 
A  man  of  mortal  passions,  mortal  wants — 
A  man  of  simple  pleasures,  hopes,  and  griefs, 

And  who  at  last  like  us  must  needs  fare  out 

Upon  that  dim  and  undiscovered  way 

"Whither  earth's  generations  wend  from  sight. 

To  him  man's  life  was  as  an  open  page 

"Whereon  he  read  the  riddle  of  the  years, 

And  nature  was  a  vast  apocalypse. 

Earth  was  to  him  a  treasure  house  wherein 

His  riches  lay,  and  from  its  darksome  crypts 


59 


At  his  quick  summons  came  its  secrets  forth, 

Trooping,  obedient,  the  vassals  of  his  will. 

He  knew  the  seas,  and  all  their  myriad  life 

To  him  became  a  mystic  revelation. 

Beautiful,  mutable,  ceaseless,  and  he  heard 

In  the  small  ripples  tinkling  on  the  beach 

Voices  and  words  and  syllables  of  love. 

Listening,  he  caught  the  accents  of  the  storm, 

Hearing  therein  no  sounds  of  violence, 

But  the  large,  lofty  converse  of  a  friend* 

Considering  the  lilies  of  the  field, 

The  grass,  the  wayside  hedge,  he  heard  their  speech, 

And  every  trembling  leaflet  spake  to  him 

In  a  divine,  mysterious  utterance 

He  understood  alone.    He  made  him  friends 

Of  brooks  and  birds  and  rocks  and  hills  and  woods, 

Interpreting  their  language  with  his  heart, 

And  heaven's  high  arcana  were  his  joys. 

The  sun  and  moon  and  stars  sphered  all  their  light 

About  his  pathway,  fending  evil  shapes 

And  shadowy  horrors,  and  dark,  skulking  wrongs, 

Born  of  a  leprous,  foul,  volcanic  age, 


60 


from  him  their  child,  their  prophet,  priest  and  king. 

His  mind  was  not  like  theirs  who  cannot  hold 

Resolve  for  one  brief  moment,  but  through  years 

He  followed  to  its  splendid  consummation 

A  steadfast  plan ;  nor  did  he  coyly  touch 

A  theme  that  saintliest  souls  this  world  e'er  knew 

Scarce  dared  to  dream  of,  but  he  freely  dwelt 

In  heavens  of  beauty  and  in  hells  of  terror, 

Where  lesser  minds,  benumbed  and  silence-smit, 

And  whelr  .ed  in  seas  of  gloom  ineffable, 

Down  to  swift,  nether  gulfs  of  night  had  sunk. 

Ere  darkness  on  the  windows  of  his  soul 

Fell  and  forever  quenched  the  light  without, 

He  doted  on  fair  Nature's  loving  face 

That  smiled  and  lightened  on  him  -where  he  moved* 

He  turned  his  forehead  to  the  vaulted  sky, 

And  saw  the  miracle  of  the  night  and  day, 

And  read  the  signs  of  love  and  peace  in  all. 

But  when  to  him  these  were  forever  veiled, 

"Within  the  effulgence  of  his  own  great  soul 

He  sat,  and  with  invisible  things  communed, 

Dwelling  with  those  vast  beings  of  his  brain, 


61 


And  holding  discourse  with  the  hoary  past. 
The  hidden  archives  of  his  life  contained 
Records  whereof  the  occult  character/ 
Angels  alone  might  read.    A  wider  realm 
"Was  that  wherein  he  moved  than  others  claimed. 
He  bade  his  spirit  flee  from  zone  to  zone, 
And  range  inviolate  lands  of  snow  and  ice, 
"Where  sleeps  the  frozen  silence  of  the  poles. 
All  things  conveyed  a  meaning  unto  him ; 
Nothing  was  useless,  nothing  base  and  mean, 
"Which  had  sprung  forth  from  the  Creative  Hand. 


ANTICIPATION 

i  O  rose  can  shut  and  be  a  bud  again ; 

Sometime,  my  darling,  you  shall  understand 
fWhy  I  am  greedy  of  these  moments  when 
Against  my  breast  I  hold  your  little  hand, 
And  watch  the  curves  and  dimples  of  your  face, 
And  all  your  beauty  and  your  flowerlike  grace. 

62 


For  the  swift  current  of  the  ceaseless  years 
v    Shall  bear  you  on  their  bosom  to  life's  main, 
Where  tempests  rage  and  hearts  grow  sick  with  fears, 
And  the  Black  Shadow  waits  •whose  name  is  Pain ; 
Then  this  sweet  brow  shall  wear  a  crown  of  care, 
And  I,  my  dear  one,  I  shall  not  be  there. 

O  tender  feet,  the  way  is  rough  and  steep ; 

O  violet  eyes,  your  vigils  must  be  long  j 
So  while  I  may,  in  love's  nest  let  me  keep 

My  precious  baby  safe  from  any  wrong ; 
Kiss  me  with  lips  still  pure  and  undefiled, 
For  sometime  I  shall  lose  you,  O  my  child* 


A  VOICE  FROM  RAMA 

LITTLE  face  in  darkness  hid  away ; 

O  shining  head,  thy  pillow  now  is  cold ; 
Fond  eyes,  that  shall  not  greet  the  waking  day, 


About  thee  lie  the  shadows,  fold  on  fold. 


I  cannot  touch  thee,  darling,  though  I  lean 
Till  in  the  grass  above  thee  my  sad  brow 

Is  buried  quite ;  alas !  the  baffling  screen 
Is  ne'er  removed ;  I  cannot  reach  thee  now. 

How  strange  it  is,  to  thee  I  am  so  near, 

And  yet  thou  answerest  not  my  soul's  deep  call ; 

Is  the  dark  palpitant  around  thee,  dear? 
Dost  feel  my  love  like  dew  upon  thee  fall  ? 

Thou  liest  quiet  in  thy  narrow  room, 
Forgetting  how  Spring's  mounting  tides  rejoice  j 

"What  weird  is  woven  in  thy  starless  gloom, 
To  seal  thy  rosebud  lips  and  hush  thy  voice  ? 

I  hunger  for  thee,  sweet ;  thy  balmy  kiss 
My  starved  lips  here  shall  never  feel  again ; 

The  lyric  music  of  thy  feet  I  miss ; 
I  listen  for  thy  laughter  all  in  vain. 

I  stumble  on  through  blinding  mists  of  tears, 
In  clamorous  ways  of  toil,  because  I  must ; 

"Waste  is  the  earth  and  void  are  all  the  years ; 
O  child,  my  heart  lies  with  thee  in  the  dust. 


64 


AT  THE  WINDOW 


LITTLE  face  at  the  window, 

A  tiny  hand  that  waves  good-bye, 
A  dimpling  smile,  and  golden  hair 
Wherein  the  frolic  sunbeams  lie  ; 
Such  is  the  vision  that  all  day  long 

Follows  my  weary  feet, 
And  moves  wherever  my  tired  eyes 
Gaze  on  the  busy  street. 

For  how  could  one  toil  and  wrestle, 

To  win  his  daily  wage  of  bread, 
Did  he  not  think  on  those  loving  eyes, 

Those  rosebud  lips,  that  shining  head  ? 
So  while  the  heavy  hours  go  by 

In  the  noisy  market-place, 
I  long  for  the  moment  to  see  again 

At  the  window  that  little  face. 

0  little  face  at  the  window  ! 

O  sunny  eyes  and  silken  hair  ! 

1  hasten  my  footsteps  homeward, 

For  I  shall  find  you  there. 


Far,  far  hence  be  the  evening  hour 

"When  I  no  more  shall  see 
At  the  darkened  window  a  little  face, 

Except  in  memory. 


LITTLE  FOOTFALLS 

),  never  the  rhythm  of    showers  in  summer 

more  lightly  beat 

On  leaves  all  quivering  with  joy  at  the  cool 
ing  kiss  of  the  rain, 

Than  on  my  thirsty  ears  fell  the  patter  of  tiny  feet 
And  the  sound  of  a  silvery  voice  a-gurgle  with  laugh 
ter  again. 

For  who  can  measure  the  silence  bodeful  as  that  of  death 
When  in  the  hushed,  dim  chamber,  where  white, 

drawn  faces  peer. 

Above  the  broken  whispers  flutters  a  gasping  breath, 
And  pale  lids  curtain  the  eyes  than  all  besides  more 
dear? 


66 


H     None,  none  can  fathom  the  stillness  that  steals  from  roon. 

to  room 
Whence  one  small  presence  has  passed,  like  a  sudden 

light  gone  out, 

And  none  can  know  the  horror  of  irrevocable  gloom, 
Save  those  the  life  of  whose  darling  hangs  in  the  scales 
of  doubt. 

Ah,  how  the  shadows  are  lifted,  and  the  joy-bells  throb 

again, 

And  the    heart   sings  in    the  bosom  like  a    dawn- 
awakened  bird, 
When  little  feet  turn  backward  from  the  Valley  of  Loss 

and  Pain, 

And  the  music  of  fairy  footfalls  once  more  in  the 
house  is  heard. 

R.  L.  S. 

PRITHEE  turn,  O  passer-by, 
In  this  green  inclosure  lie 
1  All  the  graces  that  could  lend 
Fragrance  to  the  name  of  "friend"; 

67 


Knightly  instincts,  kindly  deeds, 
Swift  response  to  life's  deep  needs, 
Courtesies  that  did  not  fail, 
Sympathies  that  ne'er  grew  stale. 
Home  of  finest  thoughtf ulness, 
And  those  impulses  that  bless 
Bowed  and  stricken  humankind, 
While  to  malice  nobly  blind, 
Was  the  man  that  moulders  here ; 
So  to  nature  he  is  dear, 
And  the  heavens  that  o'er  him  bend 
Daily  breathe,  "He  was  a  friend." 


A  SONG  OF  THE  HILLTOP 

O  the  hilltop  let  us  go ; 

Squirrels  are  hiding  there,  I  know, 

And  in  fir-trees  thick  and  tall, 

Hour  by  hour,  the  catbirds  call ; 

Bow  and  arrow  in  our  hand, 

On  the  hilltop  let  us  stand. 


68 


Hunters  blithe  and  bold  are  we, 
And  we  range  the  forests  free, 
Each  a  merry  Robin  Hood, 
Loving  well  the  leafy  wood ; 
Bearing  still  the  self-yew  bow, 
To  the  hilltop  let  us  go. 

There  the  breezes  fresh  and  sweet 
Ripple  o'er  the  fields  of  wheat, 
And  the  mimic  waterfalls 
Leap  and  laugh  with  elfin  calls; 
Up,  the  day  is  in  its  prime, 
They  but  lose  who  fear  to  climb* 

THE  HEART  OF  A  BOY 

UT  of  the  leafy  twilight,  hearken !  again  and 

again, 
Slaking  the  thirsty  noontide,  falls  the  melodious 

rain 
Of  the  wood-thrush  where,  in  the  coolness  and  greenness, 

he  sits  apart 

And  poet-like  gives  to  the  silence  the  wealth  of  his  afflu 
ent  heart. 

69 


The  shepherd  that  stands  on  the  hillslope,  over  his  slanted 

crook 

Leaning  his  shaggy  bosom,  listens,  and  hard  by  the  brook 
The  bell-wether  leading  the  flock   pauses  a  moment  to 

hear, 
Dimly  aware  of  the  sweetness  breathed  in  his  sluggish 

ear. 

Hushed  are  the  whispering  leaves,  and  the  waters  that 

softly  creep 
O'er  the  pebbles  that  gleam  in  the  shallows  murmur  as  if 

in  sleep, 
And  the  frog  on  the  oozy  marge,  with  iris  and   reeds 

overgrown, 
Muffles  his  voice  in  his  throat  and  lies  as  still  as  a  stone. 

O  grace  of   the  halcyon  day!     O  song  from  the  dusk 

woodside ! 
To  the  naked  sun-browned  lad  dabbling  his  feet  in  the 

tide, 

However  the  years  may  run  with  error  and  sorrow  rife, 
Ye  are  a  living  memory — ye  are  a  part  of  life. 


70 


The  world  may  be  swathed  in  vapors,  or  drowned  in  the 

rushing  rain, 
And  eyelids  heavy  with  weeping  may  watch  for  the 

dawn  in  vain, 
Yea,  quenched  in  tears  as  of  blood  may  be  many  a  later 

joy, 
But  never  that  song  from  the  upland  stored  in  the  heart 

of  a  boy* 

SING  A  SONG  OF  SIXPENCE 

ING  a  song  of  sixpence,  a  pocket  full  of  rye, 
Bees  are  in  the  clover,  and  clouds  are  sailing 

high* 

All  the  world's  before  us,  there  are  birds  in  every  tree, 
And  to  the  music  that  they  make  our  hearts  dance  mer 
rily? 

Lambs  frisk  in  the  meadows,  and  silver  fishes  gleam, 
Hourly  playing  hide  and  seek,  in  every  sunny  stream. 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence,  a  pocket  full  of  rye, 
On  the  upland  pastures  the  dew  is  scarcely  dry ; 


Who  •would  mope  in  corners  o'er  dull  and  musty  books, 
"When  the  flowers  are  blowing  in  a  thousand  fragrant 

nooks? 
Squirrels  among  the  leafy  boughs  are  leaping  free  from 

care, 
And  butterflies  are  flitting  through  the  summer  air. 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence,  a  pocket  full  of  rye, 

On  the  green  slopes  of  the  hills  how  good  to  rest  the  eye ! 

Leave  awhile  the  tyrant  lessons ;  barefoot  o'er  the  grass 

Chase  the  flying  shadows,  nor  heed  the  hours  that  pass ; 

1*o  the  fields  and  forests  hasten,  lads,  away ; 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence — let  us  live  today. 

CRADLE  SONGS 

I 

;  USH-a-bye,  hush-a-bye,  little  feet,  go 
Down  the  cool  slopes  where  the  dream- 
flowers  grow, 
Down  to  the  stream  where  the  sleep -zephyrs  blow, 
Low — ah,  low — 
Lighter  than  snow, 
Brushing  the  slumber-dews,  little  feet,  go. 


72 


vHush-a-bye,  hush-a-bye,  shut,  little  eyes ; 
Home  to  her  nestlings  the  sparrow-bird  flies ; 
Now  with  her  cuddled  lamb,  stilling  its  cries, 
Lies — aht  lies 
Under  the  skies 
The  woolly  ewe-mother ;  shut,  shut,  little  eyes. 

Hush-a-bye,  hush-a-bye,  little  one,  sleep ; 

Now  the  moon-shepherdess,  barefoot  Bo-peep, 

Leads  all  her  starry  flock  up  the  blue  steep ; 

Sweep — ah,  sweep — 

Out  to  the  deep, 

Dearest  of  voyagers ;  little  one,  sleep. 


II 

HIS  is  the  road  to  Sleepy-town — 
Barefoot-highway,  dusky-brown, 
Where  the  sandman  waits  with  blinking  eyes. 

Selling  fresh  dreams  from  Paradise, — 

44  Who  buys,  who  buys, 

Fresh  new  dreams  from  Paradise  ?  " 


73 


This  is  the  road  to  Sleepy-town ; 

Shadows  are  falling  over  the  down ; 

The  night-moth  flits  and  the  black  bat  flies, 

And  the  sandman  follows  with  blinking  eyes, — 

"Who  buys,  who  buys, 

Fresh  new  dreams  from  Paradise? " 

This  is  the  road  to  Sleepy-town, 

Where  travelers  go  in  a  milk-white  gown, 

To  enter  the  ivory  gates  that  rise 

At  the  end  of  the  way  where  the  sandman  cries, 

**  "Who  buys,  who  buys, 

Fresh  new  dreams  from  Paradise?** 

m 

?HAT  do  they  do  in  Bylo-land, 
| Silvery,  shadowy  Bylo-land? 
^They  swing  no  bat,  they  fly  no  kite ; 
The  tattered  dolls  are  forgotten  quite ; 
But  out  through  the  gates  of  the  City  of  Night 
The  little  ones  glide  in  garments  white 
To  beautiful  Bylo-land, 


74 


Vhat  do  they  hear  in  Bylo-land, 
Glimmering,  mystical  Bylo-land  ? 

Ah,  little  ears  hear  wonderful  things  > 

Snatches  of  song  that  mother  sings 

"When  the  light  sinks  low,  and  the  rocker  swings) 

And  lullaby  sounds  from  hidden  springs 
In  the  kills  of  Bylo-land. 

How  win  them  back  from  Bylo-land, 

Magical,  emerald  Bylo-land  ? 

"When  the  last  faint  star  in  heaven  dies, 

And  the  dusk  grows  wan  where  the  mountains 

rise, 

When  the  great  sun  climbs  the  yellow  skies, 
Then  mother's  kisses  on  drowsy  eyes 

"Woo  back  from  Bylo-land, 

IV 

fHISPER,  whisper  out  of  the  west, 
|  Fold  thy  plumes  o'er  my  birdling's  nest, 
^Come,  O  wind,  whence  the  poppies  blow, 
Come  whence  the  lullaby  fountains  flow, 


75 


Come  with  kisses  soft  and  sweet 

For  tired  little  eyes  and  tired  little  feet. 

"Whisper,  whisper  out  of  the  south, 
Drop  thy  balm  on  the  •wee  red  mouth, 
Come,  O  wind,  from  the  palm  and  pine, 
From  the  trailing  moss  and  the  tangled  vine, 
Come  with  touches  soft  and  sweet 
On  tired  little  eyes  and  tired  little  feet. 


LEEP,  sleep,  my  babe,  night  will  not  harm  thee, 

Nor  care  disturb  thy  happy  rest ; 
Here  shalt  thou  lie,  here  shalt  thou  warm  thee, 
Safe  sheltered  on  thy  mother's  breast. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep,  my  heart  thy  pillow; 

Thee  love  from  evil  hap  shall  guard ; 
The  moon  hangs  bright  o'er  yonder  willow ; 

Above,  dear  God  keeps  watch  and  ward. 


76 


O  baby  mine,  what  peace  infolds  thee ! 

Beneath  thee  is  Love's  tender  arm ; 
The  Gentle  Shepherd  sweetly  holds  thee — 

He  shields  his  helpless  lambs  from  harm. 

Then  sleep,  my  babet  no  tongue  shall  chide  thee ; 

On  thee  shall  blow  no  wind  unblest ; 
O  baby,  in  my  heart  I  hide  theet 

There  make  thy  bed,  there  take  thy  rest. 

VI 

?HITHER  stray  you,  dimple-feet? 
)  Winds  are  blowing  fresh  and  sweet 
From  the  dim  dream-mountains ; 
By  what  pathways  do  you  go 
Where  the  magic  waters  flow 
From  the  cool  sleep-fountains? 

Far  and  fair  the  landscape  lies ; 
Cloudless  are  the  sapphire  skies 
Which  lean  softly  over ; 


77 


There  bright  birds  that  blithely  sing, 
Low  of  voice  and  light  of  wing, 
Round  you  ever  hover. 

Tiny  stranger,  traveling  still 
From  the  dew-wet  purple  hill 

"Wreathed  with  bud  and  blossom, 
When  the  shapes  of  sleep  are  fled, 
"Wake  to  find  your  little  head 

Safe  on  mother's  bosom. 

vn 

OCK-A-BYE,  baby,  thy  cradle  is  green, 
Over  thy  slumbers  the  cool  branches  lean, 
Bees  in  thy  bower  are  crooning  their  song, 
Leaves  whisper  round  thee  all  the  day  long, 
Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye,  blue  are  the  skies, 
Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye,  shut  little  eyes. 

Rock-a-bye,  baby,  thy  cradle  is  green, 
Tiny  brown  mothers  their  soft  feathers  preen- 
"While  the  dear  birdlings  are  hushed  in  the  nest, 

78 


And  the  light  breezes  blew  out  of  the  west, 
Rock-a-faye,  rock-a-bye,  blue  are  the  skies, 
Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye,  shut  little  eyes. 

"Rock-a-bye,  baby,  thy  cradle  is  green, 

Father's  a  nobleman,  mother's  a  queen," 

Sweet  as  the  dews  in  the  cups  of  the  flowers, 

Lore  sheds  its  balm  on  thee  through  the  bright  hours ; 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye,  blue  are  the  skies, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye,  shut  little  eyes. 

vm 

VER  and  over,  and  under  and  under, 
Sleep  is  a  rover  through  dream-lands  of 
wonder, 

Over  the  rivers  and  over  the  leas, 

Under  the  mountains  and  under  the  seas; 

Out  of  the  sunlight, 

Into  the  dun  night, 

Sleep  on  wings  downy-gray 

Flits  with  my  babe  away. 


79 


Under  and  under,  and  over  and  ever, 

By  meadows  and  mountains  still  loiters  the  rover, 

Where  through  the  buttercups  yellow  as  gold 

"Wind  the  young  lambs  to  the  peace  of  the  fold ; 

Out  of  the  sunlight, 

Into  the  dun  night, 

Sleep  on  •wings  downy-gray 

Flits  with  my  babe  away. 

IX 

LEEP,  O  my  babe,  not  thine  a  manger 
"Where  cradled  lies  thy  helpless  head ; 
No  oxen  low,  dear  little  stranger, 
And  wondering  stare  above  thy  bed ; 
Thou  need'st  not  weep ; 
Ah,  slumber  deep, 

For  fond  hearts  wake  while  thou  dost  sleep, 
And  light  as  dews  shed  from  the  skies 
Love  shuts  the  violets  of  thine  eyes : 
Not  in  a  stall 
Love's  kisses  all 
As  soft  as  rose-leaves  on  thee  fall. 


80 


HOMEWARD 

TREAD  the  path  ;  the  end  thereof 

I  cannot  see  ;  but  thou,  my  Guide, 
I  Hast  taught  me  that  thy  name  is  Love, 
So  evermore  at  thy  dear  side 
I  walk  content;  and  though  my  feet 

Are  sometimes  weary,  and  my  eyes 
Strain  through  the  dark,  I  find  it  sweet, 
Knowing  the  pathway  homeward  lies. 

"HE  BRINGETH  THE  WIND" 


it  come,  howe'er  it  go, 
(  I  question  not  what  wind  may  blow, 
ijSince,  whether  calm  or  storm  betide, 
Serene  o'er  all  still  doth  He  ride 
"Whose  chariot  wheels  the  sun  out-tire, 
Whose  ministers  are  flaming  fire* 
Though  tossed  my  fragile  bark,  the  gale 
That  sweeps  me  on  with  tattered  sail, 
To  mariners  becalmed  mid-sea 
The  very  breath  of  life  may  be. 

82 


The  tempest  that  uproots  the  oak, 
And  rolls  the  clouds  like  battle-smoke 
From  shattered  cliff  to  riven  scar 
Mid  shocks  of  elemental  war, 
In  yonder  cool  and  claustral  wood 
But  lifts  the  violet's  azure  hood, 
Where  in  her  hushed,  sequestered  dell 
Like  a  shy  nun  she  loves  to  dwell. 
And  when  the  bellowing  hurricane 
Leaps  wildly  o'er  the  dark  champaign? 
Beating  as  with  a  mighty  flail 
Rich  harvests  down  before  the  hail, 
"While  scattered  in  its  huge,  blind  wrath 
Men's  ruined  labors  strew  its  path, — 
Upon  the  marge  of  some  clear  lake, 
The  mirror  fair  of  bloom  and  brake, 
White  lilies  lightly  dip  and  rise, 
Asleep  beneath  the  fostering  skies* 
Thus  howsoe'er  the  wind  may  blow, 
Or  be  it  high  or  be  it  low, 
I  hush  my  foolish  heart  to  rest ; 
God  sends  the  winds,  and  He  knows  best. 


"LIKE  AS  WE  ARE" 

;  LL  night,  with  fevered  eyes,  I  lay  and  stared 
Upon  the  darkness  while  my  sorrow  bled ; 
Till,  'twixt  the  twilight  and  the  rose-flushed  day, 
I  slept,  and  sleeping  dreamed  that  I  had  died* 
Amid  the  little  stars,  that  past  me  rained 
Like  sparks  shot  downward,  swiftly  I  was  borne 
Unto  the  very  Presence.    "With  crossed  wings 
And  haloed  foreheads,  round  me  circle-wise 
Stood  heaven's  pure  spirits.    "  Thou  art  hither  brought," 
He  spake  upon  whose  face  I  dared  not  look, 
"That  from  what  tribulation  thou  art  come, 
Being  made  perfect,  thou  mayst  now  declare." 
So  with  bowed  head  and  quivering  touch  I  drew 
The  vestments  from  my  bosom,  whence  slow  dropped 
Big  tears  of  blood.    "  Behold,"  I  faintly  said, 
"Not  hatred's,  but  love's,  bitter  stroke."    Whereat 
From  out  the  utter  glory  welled  a  Voice 
More  thrilling  sweet  than  music,  and  a  Form, 
Sun-clothed  and  with  a  golden  girdle  cinct, 
Moved  downward  to  me.      "Fear  not,  child,"  He 
breathed, 

84 


"I  am  thy  Brother,  and  I  know  thy  woe  f 

And  as  His  fingers  twined  about  my  own, 

I  saw  His  hand  was  wounded,  and  my  gaze, 

Daring  at  length  to  travel  upward,  marked 

The  spear-thrust  in  His  side.     Then  all  at  once 

I  knew  Him — knew  His  crown  of  twisted  thorns, 

And,  poring  on  the  mystery  of  His  eyes, 

I  knew  love's  holiest  Victim,  and  I  wept  j 

But  He,  low  murmuring,  elapsed  me  to  His  breast, 

And  as  a  mother  cherisheth  her  babe, 

On  my  abashed  brow  He  set  a  kiss. 

CONSIDER  THE  LILIES 

CONSIDER  the  lilies,  O  my  heart, 

Poor  heart,  so  slow,  so  late  to  learn ! 
Thou  more  than  meat  and  raiment  art ', 
"Wilt  thou  still  earthward  yearn  ? 

Consider  the  lilies  how  they  grow ; 

O  heart,  they  neither  toil  nor  spin, 
Yet  they  are  clad  in  robes  like  snow ; 

Art  thou  as  pure  within  ? 

85 


Wherefore,  if  God  so  clothe  the  grass, 
Shall  He  not  clothe  thee,  as  He  saith  ? 

Clothe  thee  upon  with  righteousness, 
O  thouof  little  faith? 

Behold  the  small  fowls  of  the  air, 
They  sow  not,  neither  do  they  reap, 

They  take  no  thought,  no  carking  care, 
They  neither  watch  nor  weep  ; 

And  yet  the  Father  f eedeth  these — 
O  heart,  where  is  thy  boasted  trust? 

No  more  of  sloth  or  doubting  ease  ; 
Arise  from  out  the  dust ! 

Go,  get  thee  to  thy  work  again ; 

Know  thou  that  verily  in  the  Lord 
Thy  labor  cannot  be  in  vain : 

Thou  shalt  have  thy  reward. 

No  sparrow  falleth  to  the  earth 
Without  the  Father,  and  thou  art 

Than  many  sparrows  of  more  worth, 
O  faithless,  foolish  heart ! 


86 


Therefore  take  thou  no  anxious  thought ; 

Thy  strength  shall  still  be  as  thy  day ; 
The  birds  and  lilies  have  not  wrought, 

But  thou  art  more  than  they. 

THE  QUEST 

JOURNEYED  far  to  see  the  King ;  my  days 
I  spent  in  weary  quests ;  by  lonely  tarns, 
In  populous  cities,  in  the  wilderness, 
"Where  the  gaunt  mountains  lift  their  hoary  fronts, 
And  where  the  deserts  spread  their  shifting  sands, 
Wandered  my  fruitless  steps.    For  I  was  fain 
To  see  Him  in  His  splendor,  His  august 
And  gracious  presence  making  all  the  place 
Of  His  enthronement  radiant  with  light. 
His  voice,  full  fraught  with  power,  I  deemed  should  be 
More  sweet  than  falling  waters  heard  afar, 
Or  the  warm  night-winds  whispering  in  the  pines  ; 
His  luminous  eyes  beneath  His  placid  brows 
Star-clear  should  calmly  beam  on  all  alike ; 
And  from  the  dais  where  His  feet  were  set 

87 


Refreshing  streams  of  influence  should  flow 
To  drooping  lives. 

Thus  day  by  day  I  sought 
To  come  where  He  might  be,  but  evermore 
The  morrow  found  me  still  a  wayfarer ; 
Till,  spent  and  gray,  I  turned  my  hopeless  feet 
Down  the  small  street  where  stood  my  empty  home, 
And  there  I  found  Him  waiting  at  my  door. 
Not  clothed  in  purple,  but  in  raiment  stained 
And  travel- worn ;  His  feet  were  bare ;  His  head 
Was  meekly  bowed,  and  on  His  wasted  cheek 
"Were  traces  as  of  tears.    "Within  His  hands 
He  held  no  scepter,  but  a  palmer's  staff ; 
Yet,  as  I  looked,  I  knew  He  was  the  King, 
For  round  His  brow  was  girt  a  crown  of  thorns. 

THE  GOLDEN  AGE 

HE  morn  bursts  on  us  with  a  song ; 

Night's  sable  wings  are  furled ; 
The  golden  age,  awaited  long, 
Dawns  on  the  weary  world. 


88 


Now  hoary  wrongs  shall  righted  be, 

Love's  fillet  bind  each  brow, 
"While  Peace  the  dove,  o'er  land  and  sea, 

Shall  bear  the  olive  bough. 

Lo,  watching  eyes,  bedimmed  with  tears, 

"With  happiness  grow  bright ; 
And  hearts  oppressed  with  gloomy  fears, 

Unfold  to  catch  the  light. 
Let  every  tongue  its  silence  break ; 

No  more  let  battles  rage ; 
"While  valleys,  plains,  and  hills  awake 

To  greet  the  golden  age. 

Roll  swiftly  up,  O  joyful  day, 

Flood  all  the  heavens  serene ; 
The  places  where  foul  dragons  lay, 

"With  rushes  shall  be  green  j 
The  lion  and  the  leopard  wild 

No  more  shall  maim  nor  kill, 
"While  o'er  God's  mount  a  little  child 

Shall  lead  them  where  he  will. 


WEARY 

^HY  cry  aloud?  "Why  lift  a  strenuous  voice? 
Better  is  quiet ;  better  that  rapt  hour 
hen  thou  canst  feel  the  large  cool  night  re 
joice, 
And  truth  speaks  to  thee  from  the  dew-lipped  flower. 

Rest  and  be  still ;  wrapped  softly  round  thy  heart, 
Let  the  sweet  silence  heal  thee  like  a  balm  ; 

Forget  the  praise ;  thine  is  the  better  part, 

And  heaven  shall  send  its  whispers  through  thy  calm. 

The  world  may  shout  its  triumphs  from  afar, 
Care  not ;  commune  apart  with  thine  own  soul ; 

Safe  from  the  strife  of  tongues,  the  noise  of  war, 
Let  peace  like  tides  of  music  round  thee  roll. 

PAIN 

MET  a  loathsome  beggar  on  the  way, 
"Who  sued  for  alms.  His  unkempt,  grizzled  hair 
Fell  o'er  his  forehead  like  a  thatch ;  his  eyes, 
Small,  red,  and  all  aflood  with  rheum,  were  bent 


90 


v  "With  leering  supplication  on  my  own. 
Betwixt  his  wasted  palms  he  held  a  hat, 
Battered  and  stained,  -wherein  a  few  poor  coins 
Bespoke  the  pity  wherewith  passers-by 
Had  tossed  him  their  scant  dole.    About  his  feet 
Were  wisps  of  straw,  and  as  he  bowed  he  prayed, 
''An  alms,  kind  stranger,  for  God's  love,  an  alms." 
I  paused  and,  sick  at  heart,  regarded  all 
The  tattered  wanderer's  lorn  and  fallen  state, 
And  wondered  why  so  foul  a  blot  should  rest 
Upon  the  beauteous  day  to  mar  its  joy. 
For  the  birds  sang,  and  flowers  were  abloom, 
And  the  white  clouds  were  floating  high,  and  round 
The  happy  fields,  swung  by  invisible  hands, 
A  thousand  censers  yielded  rare  perfumes. 
Then  o'er  my  soul,  like  a  great  billow,  rolled 
Divine  compassion,  and  against  the  grim 
Black  night  of  that  vile  beggar's  woe  I  saw 
The  prosperous  noon-tide  of  my  own  full  life : 
Till  sudden  shame  seized  on  me,  and  a  pang 
Ne'er  felt  before  pierced  through  me  like  a  lance, 
And  the  bright  light  was  dashed  from  heaven,  and  o'er 


The  smiling  earth  a  darkness  fell.    "Whereat 
When  I  was  fain  to  hide  me,  that  I  dared 
To  quaff  the  cup  of  bliss  while  other  lips 
Famished  for  but  one  drop,  lo  I  as  I  looked, 
The  wretch  before  me  was  transformed,  his  brow 
Shone  with  celestial  splendor,  his  deep  eyes 
Beamed  with  unearthly  beauty,  and  his  form 
"Was  clad  in  raiment  like  the  sun.    I  said, 
""Who  art  thou?"  and  he  answered?  "I  am  Pain, 
And  come  to  teach  all  selfish  lives  that  love 
Opens  the  viewless  gateway  unto  peace." 
Then  lifting  from  the  dust  my  dazzled  sight, 
I  stood  alone,  and  in  that  moment  gazed 
On  a  new  heaven  clasping  a  new  earth. 

A  HOUSE  NOT  MADE  WITH  HANDS 


HIS  house,  so  slowly  builded  up 
Through  seasons  dashed  with  sun  and 


This  heart  that  holds  as  in  a  cup 
Life's  little  pleasures  mixt  with  pain ; 


92 


These  hands  that  fumble  at  their  task, 

Or  nerveless  fall  from  labors  done  ; 
This  face  that  hides  me  like  a  mask ; 

These  feet  that  age  clogs  as  they  rtm — 
All  these  shall  pass  and  be  no  more, 

And  that  which  grew  through  strenuous  days 
Shall  like  a  troubled  dream  be  o'er, 

Nor  know  again  Time's  clouded  ways. 
But  somehow,  somewhere,  from  the  night, 

And  from  the  dust,  shall  surely  rise 
That  which  eludes  the  grosser  sight, 

To  seek  its  home  beyond  the  skies. 


SURRENDER 

jORD,  hast  thou  for  me  still  some  poignant  cup, 
Some  austere  pathway  my  bruised  feet  must 

tread, 
Some  bitter  herbs  whereon  I  yet  must  sup, 

Some  salt  tears  still  wherein  to  steep  my  bread  ? 


93 


I  am  not  wise,  and  O,  my  knees  are  faint, 

M.y  hands  hang  down,  my  soul  is  parched  with  drouth ; 
Oft  to  thee  have  I  made  my  sore  complaint, 

And  filled  with  fiery  arguments  my  mouth. 

Now  will  I  hold  my  peace  at  thy  command, 
And  to  thee  yield  my  life  in  patient  trust ; 

Yea,  I  will  be  the  worm  within  thy  hand 
"Wherewith  thou  beatest  mountains  into  dust. 

DOUBT  AND  FAITH 

*&£rzZ2  WAS  thus  the  vision  came :  the  sunset  bars 
Were  fading  from  the  west,  and  gathering  gloom 
Veiled  the  fair  landscape ;  multitudinous  sounds, 

Born  of  the  night,  from  valley  and  from  hill 

Rose  solemnly.    Then  saw  I  where  a  path 

Wound  down  a  steep  declivity  till  all 

Was  inky  darkness,  save  a  single  star 

That  pulsed  with  brightness  o'er  the  gulf's  black  void. 

Thither  two  travellers  came,  and  staid  their  feet, 

Affrighted  to  behold  the  sheer  descent 

Whither  the  pathway  plunged.    Then  was  I  ware 

94 


How  one  upon  his  eyes  did  clap  his  hands 
And  leap  into  the  night.     The  other,  calm 
With  lifted  brows  and  eyes  fixed  on  the  star, 
Stepped  downward  bravely,  and  the  darkness  fled 
Before  his  fearless  feet,  and  on  a  sudden 
Shining  he  saw  the  happy  gates  of  home. 

MYSTERY 

PON  the  rerge  of  night  I  walked ; 

Behind  me  sank  the  day  ; 
An  unseen  Presence  by  me  stalked 
Along  the  darkling  way. 

The  calm  and  awful  stars  looked  down ; 

Where  icy  peaks  did  rise, 
The  boreal  aurora's  crown 

Paled  in  the  solemn  skies. 

Then  past  the  touch  of  love's  warm  hand, 
Beyond  thought's  utmost  mete, 

I  heard  against  life's  crumbling  strand 
Death's  sullen  billows  beat 


95 


O  universe  of  mystery  ! 

In  time's  vast  prison-place, 
Is  there  not  One  who  holds  the  key  ? 

Shall  we  not  see  his  face  ? 


THE  CLOUDS  ARE  THE  DUST  OF  HIS  FEET" 

huddled  clouds  above  the  hill 
Close   darkly    down ;     from    dripping 

trees 

The  brown  leaves  flutter  to  the  rill 
And  hush  their  summer  symphonies. 

Chill  is  the  morn ;  a  wandering  breath 

Of  frost  and  silence  in  the  night 
Steals  forth  •with  solemn  hints  of  death, 

And  fills  the  world  •with  vague  affright. 

Yet  when  the  rude  north's  bitter  scath 
Breaks  wildly  round  the  smitten  yea?, 

To  earth,  despite  the  winter's  wrath, 
The  sun  draws  nearer  and  more  near. 

96 


Thus  when,  through  black  portents  of  doom, 
The  heart  grows  sick  with  dread  and  dole, 

All  unperceived  amid  the  gloom 
Sweet  heaven  draws  nearer  to  the  soul. 


WASTED 


BETHOUGHT  'twere  time  enough,  when  the 

rathe  dews 

Dried  from  the  herbs,  for  life's  imperious  tasks. 
So  all  the  morning,  while  the  golden  hours 
Laughed  in  their  happy  dance,  I  chased  the  midge, 
The  thistle-down,  the  purfled  butterfly, 
And  gave  no  heed  to  duty.     "Whisperings 
Of  solemn  import  reached  mine  ears  betimes, 
But  struck  not  on  my  heart.    So  down  the  long 
Bright  aisles  of  airy  fancies  pleasure  bore 
.My  winged  feet.    Till  on  a  sudden  fell 
The  sovereign  night,  inexorably  calm, 
With  quenching  shadows,  when  no  man  can  work. 


97 


THE  STRICKEN  KING 

HE  summer  sunshine,  through   the   tremulous 
leaves, 

Along  the  marble  floor  sowed  its  bright  gules 
"Where  in  his  chamber  lay  the  stricken  king, 
Wasted,  and  hollow-eyed,  and  touched  with  death. 
About  him  learned  leeches,  brought  from  far, 
Hovered  to  count  each  sterterous  sigh,  each  slow 
And  fitful  pulse-beat,  for  no  potion  soothed 
The  mortal  anguish  of  his  malady. 
Then  were  the  secrets  of  the  oracle 
Consulted,  and  a  solemn  voice  was  heard 
Declaring  that  whene'er  the  king  should  clothe 
His  pain-racked  body  in  the  shirt  of  one 
"Whose  happiness  was  perfect,  from  his  flesh 
The  torment  should  depart,  and  health  once  more 
Flush  his  wan  cheek.    So  through  the  kingdom  went 
The  heralds  diligently  forth,  but  found 
None  in  whose  cup  of  joy  no  bitter  drop 
Was  intermingled.    Some  in  secret  pined 
From  very  fullness  of  delight,  since  naught 


98 


"Was  left  to  wish  for ;  some  in  •wantonness 
Dashed  in  the  dust  their  honeyed  chalices, 
That  thus  a  subtler  pleasure  they  might  know- 
In  striving  to  regain  the  perished  sweet. 
Discouraged  in  their  quest,  the  pursuivants, 
"Weary  and  heavy-hearted,  homeward  turned 
Their  careworn  faces.    In  a  dewy  vale, 
"Where  the  cool  shadows  of  the  mountains  lay, 
And  a  clear  stream  made  all  the  solitude 
Glad  -with  its  song,  a  snowy-bearded  man, 
Cairn-browed  and  gentle,  leaned  upon  a  staff, 
Midway  a  mossy  bridge.    The  dusty  band, 
Drooping  their  banners,  halted,  and  once  more, 
Languid  and  hopeless,  made  their  mission  known. 
Amazed  they  listened  while  the  reverend  man 
Confessed  he  knew  no  want,  no  grief,  no  loss, 
And  that  his  happiness  was  as  a  sun 
"Whose  fair  effulgence  not  a  cloud  distained. 
Then  from  his  horse  the  captain  leaped,  and  prayed 
The  white-haired  one  to  doff  his  shirt  and  send 
The  garment  for  the  healing  of  the  king. 
Slowly  the  wrinkled  hands  were  raised  to  loose 


99 


The  fastenings  of  the  tattered  cloak,  when,  lo ! 
The  light  of  day  smote  on  the  naked  breast 
And  the  nude  shoulders  of  the  aged  man 
"Whom  poverty  denied  a  shirt  to  wear. 


THE  SECRET  MINISTRIES 

>HILD  of  My  love,  I  know  thy  bitter  care, 
And  that  thy  weary  heart  is  like  to  break 
Betimes,  as  o'er  life's  worn  and  dusty  ways 
From  day  to  day  thou  bearest  thy  huge  load : 
I  laid  it  on  thee  and  I  know  thy  strength ; 
Stern  is  thy  trial,  but  no  feather's  weight 
Beyond  its  limit  shall  thy  sorrow  press. 
Nor  shalt  thou  faint,  for  I  will  gather  thee 
"Within  Mine  arm's  sufficient  comforting, 
And  breathe  a  holy  courage  through  thy  fears. 
Never  will  I  forsake  thee,  but  will  bless 
"With  secret  ministries,  until  thy  bonds 
Are  loosed,  and  the  old  burden  from  thee  slips, 
At  the  bright  portals  of  thy  Father's  house. 


100 


THE  ANCHORITE 

ERE  in  the  desert  where  the  very  thorn 
Is  dwarfed  and  shrivelled  with  the  sun's  ex- 


"Where  the  gray  rocks  are  flushed  beneath  the  morn, 

And  night  wraps  round  their  uncouth  nakedness 
Her  star-lit  shadows — still  I  watch  and  pray, 
"While  the  slow  hours  uncounted  creep  away. 

Oft  with  the  knotted  scourge  my  rebel  flesh 

I  chasten  in  the  importunate  solitude  ; 
Upon  my  brow  the  wind  breathes  sweet  and  fresh, 

Above  the  earth  the  palpitant  heavens  brood ; 
But  still  I  turn  to  that  dark  realm  within, 
In  agony  to  wrestle  with  my  sin. 

The  vast  plain  pulsates  in  the  withering  heat 
"Which  rolls  athwart  the  waste  sands,  wave  on  wave  j 

Along  the  barren  ridge  its  billows  beat 
About  the  doorway  of  my  narrow  cave ; 

"While  I,  with  bruised  knees  and  aching  eyes, 

Besiege  with  prayer  the  unresponsive  skies. 

101 


On  bitter  herbs  I  break  my  bootless  fast, 
And  at  the  brackish  pool  I  stanch  my  thirst ; 

I  hear  old  voices  from  the  ghostly  past, 
I  groan,  and  weep,  and  am  as  one  accurst ; 

All  night  my  truss  of  straw  is  drenched  with  tears ; 

My  spirit  faints ;  I  am  consumed  with  fears, 

O  wherewith  shall  I  gird  me  for  my  task, 
Or  my  perfidious  pride  of  life  abase  ? 

"When  from  my  soul  I  tear  its  guilty  mask, 
And  low  in  dust  hide  my  unhallowed  face, 

E'en  then  I  hear  soft  whispers  from  above, 

"While  round  me  hover  dreams  of  human  love. 


HEROES 

HE  prize  of  valor  in  the  sanguine  fray 

Is  sculptured  epitaph  or  ponderous  tome, 
And  for  one  brief  and  evanescent  day 
A  name  familiar  grown  in  every  home* 


102 


But  there  is  One  who  recks  not  of  the  blare 
Of  brazen  trump  or  gilt  of  graven  stone ; 

God  cherishes  his  heroes,  for  they  dare 
To  lire  obscurely  and  to  die  unknown. 

LIFE  TRIUMPHANT 

I 

scepter  sways  the  dumb  and  wrinkled  earth 
But  Death's ;  a  monarch  he  whose  hoar  domain 
Is  boundless ;  silent  in  his  equal  train 
Meet  king  and  kern  alike — love's  austere  worth 
And  folly's  crapulous  shame ;  no  thought  of  birth, 
Of  proud  or  base  degree,  he  taketh ;  vain 
He  marks  all  scutcheons,  and  with  calm  disdain 
He  rends  all  bonds  of  blood.    By  every  hearth; 

In  every  pure  and  sweet  and  precious  spot 
By  human  service  to  man's  heart  made  dear ; 

By  boreal  firths  of  ice,  and  by  the  hot 
And  stagnant  waters  of  the  torrid  mere, 

He  hath  his  subjects.    Death ! — where  is  he  not  ? 
Where  droppeth  not  the  desolate,  desperate  tear  ? 


103 


n 

RAIN-WASHED  barrow    in    some    byway 

green; 

A  crumbling  tablet  sculptured  like  a  cross  ; 
A  piteous  name  beleaguered  sore  with  moss, 
And  all  else  tongueless  that  we  once  have  been : 
O  life,  flame-winged,  is  this  what  thou  dost  mean  ? 
Are  all  thy  gains  consumed  in  one  huge  loss? 
Is  all  thy  fined  gold  but  dust  and  dross? 
Is  there  no  seed  immortal  thou  mayst  glean 

Amid  the  waste  of  tares  where  thou  dost  toil? 

Ah,  for  the  arid  years  of  wrong  and  ruth, 
Of  weariness  and  woe,  while  ever  moil 

The  pain-scourged  sons  of  time, — yea,  for  the  truth 
That  bitter  is  the  bread  wrung  from  the  soil 

In  tears, — is  there  no  meed  but  death,  forsooth  ? 

m 

HAT  lies  beyond  ?  Our  tremulous  questioning 
Falls  answerless  on  the  unpitying  air ; 
Earth  hath  no  snow-crowned  seer  to  say 
how  fare 


104 


Those  souk  'twixt  whom  and  us  forever  swing 
The  unsunned  valves  of  night*    No  throbbing  wing 
Of  angel  e'er  hath  fanned  our  cheek.    O  -where, 
To  what  cloud-girdled  realm,  'mid  love-lights  rare, 
Do  our  dear  travellers  go  a-journeying  ? 

No  solemn  voice  hath  reached  us  from  the  tomb ; 

No  spectral  hand  hath  touched  us  from  the  dead ; 
No  beacon  cleaves  the  void  and  icy  gloom ; 

No  word  of  solace  dissipates  our  dread ; 
All,  all  is  darkness — darkness,  silence,  doom : 

"Whither — ah,  whither  I — have  our  heart-twins  fled  ? 

IV 

HE  blind  lead  not  the  blind :  who  shall  lead  thee, 
Thou  orphaned  spirit  ?  Whither  thou  dost  go, 
Thou  canst  not  guess ;  around  thee  ever  flow, 
As  round  its  islands  the  importunate  sea, 
The  mysteries  of  life  and  death.    No  key 
Is  thine  to  open  life's  shut  doors ;  for  lo ! 
Amid  the  years  thou  gropest  to  and  fro, 
Thyself  unto  thyself  a  mystery. 


105 


Ah,  soul !  thy  seeking  Hands  can  never  touch 
A  substance  that  endures :  the  shadows  fade, 

As  shadows  will,  within  thy  very  clutch, 
And  of  the  anguished  efforts  thou  hast  made 

Thou  reapest  naught  but  mockery  over-much : 
Yea,  fleeting  soul,  thou,  too,  art  but  a  shade. 


^HEREIN  is  life  ?  Lo,  sun  and  moon  and  stars 
Are  perishing.  The  valleys  and  wide  hills 
Are  clothed  with  death.  The  winds  and 

plaining  rills 

Chant  evermore  a  dirge  to  dying  Mars — 
Dying  amid  the  never-ended  wars 
Twixt  light  and  darkness.    Dissolution  fills 
The  vanishing  universe.     Life  ever  kills 
The  life  it  makes.    Earth's  sanguine  avatars 

Are  gods  that  slay  the  creatures  of  their  breath, 

To  slake  their  mortal  lust  with  stanchless  blood. 
Oh,  where  and  what  is  life  ?    "Who  is  it  saith, 


106 


,      "I  am  the  life  ?  "— o'er  Whom  rolled  the  red  flood 
Of  the  last  agony.    Life ! — life  is  death : 
Yea,  flickering  soul,  death  is  thine  only  good, 

VI 

iJAY,  hearken  to  thine  own  voice,  O  my  soul  1 
What  though  the  raving  blasts  dismay  thee 

here? 

Despite  each  poignant  pang  and  breathless  fear, 
Despite  the  lampless  darkness  and  the  dole, 
Thy  tabernacle  shall  o'erspan  the  goal 
Of  sweet  desire ;  pain  never  shall  come  near 
Thy  dwelling-place,  nor  any  longing  tear 
Vex  thy  clear  vision  while  God's  eons  roll. 

Lo !  countless  tongues  from  the  perpetual  hills, 
And  myriad  voices  from  the  vaulted  sky, 

And  the  vast  deep  whose  world-wide  whisper  thrills 
The  pulses  of  the  listening  spheres  on  high, 

Mingle  their  accents  in  a  sound  that  fills 
The  caves  of  death,  "Behold,  thou  shalt  not  die." 


107 


vn 

shall  attain — yea,  though  this    dust    shall 

fail, 

And  though  all  evil  things  conspire  to  bind 
The  struggling  soul  with  gyves  of  sense,  and  blind 
Our  faith  with  clay,  and  though  all  foes  assail 
To  utterly  destroy  us,  yet  from  wail, 

From  misery  and  from  doubt,  from  all  unkind 
False  hopes,  and  from  the  dwarfed  and  prisoned  mind, 
"We  shall  attain  to  life  beyond  the  vail. 

Yea,  though  'tis  written  that  all  flesh  is  grass, 
"Which  springeth  up  at  morn  and  flourisheth, 

And  which  at  even,  when  th*  inverted  glass 
Is  emptied  of  its  sands,  fades  as  the  breath 

The  dew-lipped  rose  sighs  on  the  winds  that  pass, — 
Yet  in  our  fraility  we  shall  conquer  death. 


108 


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